Sons Of Prime
by Hot Shot's girl
Summary: Hot Rod and Hot Shot are orphaned brothers living in a time when war threatens to rip the planet apart. They were content with being left alone, but what happens when a certain Autobot Commander wishes to be a part of their life?
1. Nightmares

**Hot Shot's girl: . . . . . . okay so I ended up making a new story! So sue me! At least it's not One Piece like I've been doing lately alright! I just suddenly got in a Transformer writing mood and this popped into my head and right now, I can't stop writing it. I already have about 3 chps written so this story may be updating a lot faster :) Well hope you enjoy this, I already thought out the plot and everything so like I said, this should be updating more often. Hopefully I can keep on a schedule for you guys, lol. Well enjoy!**

The young 'bot ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn't know how it happened or why but all he knew was that he had to get home in time. In time to save them. His family.

He could feel his energon reserves depleting as he forced his systems to the max to try and make it in time. His joints were beginning to malfunction, this he was sure of. Just by looking down at his knee rotators he could see the sparks flying off of the snapped circuits that had already been overused.

It seemed as if he was pushed beyond his breaking point. He was just a child after all, a sparkling as some older 'bots would call him. He wasn't meant to overexert himself like so, not at this age. But he had no choice as he ran down the streets and corners to reach his destination.

He was closing in now. He was close enough to even feel the heat of those hungry flames that seemed to want to burn up anything. He could melt if he got too close, but he didn't care—because inside those flames were his family.

"MOTHER! FATHER!" he cried out, his voice processor reaching just above 100 percent to perhaps be heard by them, but nothing was heard in return.

All the young 'bot could do was stare blankly into those piercing flames. His mouth agape just a bit as he watched his home in mere minutes burn to the ground. There was no way any Transformer would have survived such an explosion, such a catastrophe.

"No!" he gasped as he quickly shut his optical sensors off and immediately ran straight into the flames.

He ran until he was inside the burning building. When he stopped he onlined once again his optics and looked around. It was hard to recognize any wall, hallway, or room inside that building. Everything was falling apart so fast that barely anything was noticeable.

"FATHER! MOTHER!" he cried out once more, but as he called out to them he realized there was yet another family member he forgot to mention at the time.

His optics brightened at the realization of his younger brother and so he quickly scanned his memory banks and quickly darted in the direction his brother's room remained. He dodged falling debris as best he could until he managed to make it to his room.

"Hot Shot! HOT SHOT!" he cried out as he entered the burning room to find most of the belongings inside on fire—but this part of the home seemingly not as destroyed as the others.

He ran over to the berth chamber to find the remaining insides still intact and the being he sought after sound asleep. He quickened to open it and take the young sparkling into his arms. He held the young 'bot close and then searched for a way out hoping that his parents had somehow managed to make it out unharmed.

But his search was cut off as the ceiling collapsed and fell down upon him and his brother.

"AAAAAHHHHHH! ! !" he cried seeing the burning ceiling come crashing down right upon him.

"RODY!"

The voice suddenly woke the screaming 'bot up and he jolted upward with a start, panting and trembling. His sapphire optical sensors scanned his surroundings 'til he came to the young face of his sparkling brother who was staring at him with frightened protoform blue opticals.

"Hhhuh, Shoty what's wrong?" the elder asked as he sat up, a hand placed over his overly pulsing spark.

"You were screaming in your dream," the young sparkling said. "Were you having a nightmare?"

"Hhh, yeah buddy, I was," the eldest brother known as Hot Rod admitted as he placed his hand on his little brother's head. "It's nothing to worry about though Hot Shot. Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," the little one mumbled, bowing his head and kicking at the ground beneath him.

"Sorry," Hot Rod sighed out as he sat up against a knocked over pillar—it seemed this sector of Tyger Pax was full of nothing but debris and wreckage from the war . . .

And orphans.

"What was it about?" Hot Shot asked, sitting his little frame down next to his big brother's.

"Hhh, it was about the night when father and mother offlined," he said, his sapphire optics gazing out into the dark skies of Cybertron, glittered with faintly sparkling stars millions of light-years away.

"Oh," Hot Shot turned his optic gaze down and just stared at his small feet. "I don't really remember that night . . ."

"It's good that you don't Shoty," Hot Rod said, his gaze lifting higher to see shallow smoke lifting into the skies along with the stars—from a battle not too far from the sector. "It's not something you'd want to remember."

Hot Shot saw the sad look in his brother's features and wished to somehow make him happier. He didn't like it when his brother went into moods such as these, they always seemed to get him just as down as his brother. Even though he was young he was still old enough to know that Hot Rod was still just a child and shouldn't be in such a depressing mood.

Being at the age of 5 millennia, and his older brother only 8 millennia older. They were young to be on their own, yes, but still . . . at least they had each other. Hot Rod was usually the one to provide for the both of them, stealing what they needed to survive—it was a hard time they lived in, and an even more dangerous sector, one full of dark Transformers often said to be Decepticons.

One had to be tough and fend for themselves if they were going to survive living here . . . at least that was what Hot Shot was told.

Hot Rod halted in his gaze into the skies, his audio receivers picking up small clinks and clangs. He turned towards his brother who's cheek plates began to spark with embarrassment.

"Shoty . . . are you hungry?" Hot Rod asked, tilting his head towards his brother.

"Mm, maybe . . ." Hot Shot mumbled as he wrapped his small arms around his legs and pulled them close, trying to hide his embarrassed face—often his brother had to tell him to hold his meals for they didn't come by them that often . . . so he learned to never speak much of it when he became hungry and drained.

"Hhh, why didn't you tell me Shoty?" Hot Rod asked, scooting closer to his little brother who still wished to hide his face.

"Because," came his mumbled response through his legs. "You said we don't get meals often and . . . and to hold my energy supplies."

"Yeah, but if you're hungry Shoty then tell me okay," Hot Rod smiled, pulling his little brother's legs down to show him he didn't mind going out to get him something, a soft smile on his features instantly shifting towards Hot Shot's own lips.

"Okay," Hot Shot smiled as Hot Rod brought his head down and touched foreheads with his little brother in a close show of affection.

"Well," Hot Rod sighed as he stood up and straightened his limbs. "Guess I better go get something for you," placing a hand on his own stomach he smiled. "I'm getting famished myself—we haven't eaten in a good couple of weeks, our energy supplies are getting rather low. I'll see what I can find alright."

"C-Can I come with you?" Hot Shot asked, standing up and tugging on his older brother's arm plating.

"No Shoty, this is just like before," Hot Rod said, shaking his head and kneeling before his young small brother. "You're too young and small to help out. You could get hurt or caught by a mean Transformer. What would I do if I lost you Shoty?"

"But I promise I won't get in the way," the young Transformer pleaded. "Please, I don't like being away from you."

"Neither do I Shoty," Hot Rod sighed out as he took the little one in his arms for a loving embrace. "But you'll be safe here alright. You know where to hide right until I return?"

"There," Hot Shot sniffed as he turned around and pointed to a pile of ruble that opened a small enough hole for him to fit in so he could be out of sight and wait.

"Good boy, now go—I'll be back in a couple of hours," Hot Rod said, nudging him forward.

Hot Shot walked a few steps before turning around and flashing a dazzling protoform blue eyes at his big brother, hoping it would convince him to let him come. Hot Rod only chuckled and shook his head.

"There'll be none of that Shoty, now get going—go," he said, waving his arms off to motion the boy to enter the small hole.

Hot Shot did as he was told and once he was safely out of sight Hot Rod turned and left him. Hot Shot watched his brother turn and leave the dark alley they had come to call their home. He sniffled a little before turning around and lying down the best he could in the makeshift debris tunnel.

He didn't like living here, but this was the only home he had ever known really. The only one he could remember by far. He was 3 millennia when his Father-creator and Mother-creator had died and so memories of them were just distant shadows, only images the best he could imagine of what Hot Rod told them to be like.

Still though, of what Hot Rod said it seemed like they were happy . . . and right now . . . it was hard for Hot Shot to imagine what happiness was. All that were around them were nothing but fallen buildings of debris, dark streets of dark and lowly Transformers—and litters upon litters of orphans come to be known as the forgotten children on Cybertron. Orphaned by the wars of this planet.

"Hot Rod," Hot Shot mumbled to himself, trying to pull his body into a recharge to pass the time and save what little energy he had left. "Come home soon."

At that Hot Shot offlined his optical sensors and let his memory banks take him to a place he could only call dreams.

* * *

"Hey guys, I'm back," Hot Rod called out to his friends who immediately jumped out of their hiding places and came to greet him.

"Heeey, Hot Rod, you're back!" a young 'bot of about the same age as Hot Rod whom was called Tracks answered.

"Yeah, haven't seen you around in a long time man," another 'bot around the same age as Hot Rod by the name of Jazz spoke up.

"Good to have you back nonetheless," the third friend spoke up, the red 'bot known as Blaster was, as well, around the same age as Hot Rod. "Where's your bro?"

"Hiding in his usual spot," Hot Rod motioned his thumb behind him signaling he had left him behind. "You know what happened last time he tagged along."

"Yeah," Tracks said, placing his thumb and index finger on his chin in remembrance of what happened last time. "Poor little guy almost got stepped on by the 'bot we were nabbing from."

"Yeah, don't want that happening again," Hot Rod sighed out. "He's only 5 millennia anyways, too young to do stuff like this."

"I agree," Jazz shook his head and crossed his arms. "So what are we getting this time? Supplies, energon, money, what?"

"Food, period," Hot Rod spoke up. "Me and Shoty are running low on our energy supplies and so need a fill-up."

"Same here," Blaster nodded.

"And I," Tracks agreed, rubbing his abdomen.

"Well boys, I actually refueled a few days ago, but there's no harm refueling again," Jazz shrugged with a grin.

"Alright then, let's make this quick," Hot Rod nodded as he turned and led the group of outsiders into the dark town through secret ways and there waited to find the right person and opportunity to take from.

* * *

Hot Shot came back online and looked around. He poked his head out of the small hole he laid in and found that Hot Rod had yet to return. He usually slept through until he did come back, but today was different.

With a yawn Hot Shot crawled out of the hole and stretched his legs. He looked upwards to the sky and found that more spoke had made that place even darker and drearier. He groaned at this—one of the reasons why he never liked the area they lived in . . . too ugly, though Hot Shot admitted he didn't know any other place but his imagination often brought him to beautiful cities full of light and happiness. He would like to live in a place like that when he was older and could venture out on his own—but right now, he was going to stay with Rody, even if it was in a place like this.

Hot Shot jumped a little as his sensors picked up faint struggling sounds. He crawled back towards the debris and rested in the shadowed corner, hoping whatever was making that sound would go away and pass by his alleyway quickly. He could have turned and crawled back inside the hole his brother had told him to stay hidden in, but he didn't, right now he was too nervous to do anything.

The sounds grew louder and soon he made out what it was. It sounded like a Transformer running on a low energy supply. His labored breaths gave away that thought.

Hot Shot bit his bottom lip and shrunk more into the darkened corner as he watched a fairly clean looking Transformer stumble his way into the alley. The 'bot was red and black and didn't look to have come from this sector. Watching more closely Hot Shot could see a nice hole in his torso, which scared him quite a bit—seeing energon for the time in that much amounts frightened him.

_He's hurt_, Hot Shot's thoughts wondered into the Transformer's state. _He's leaking energon—so much energon . . ._

Hot Shot watched the man look ahead of himself to see the alley way had been blocked off by debris. He heard him speak to himself in curses and then turn. He watched as the mech's sensors alerted him to other 'bots near—Hot Shot could even hear them himself. He watched the Transformer look around for anything or any place to escape; yet there was none.

His optics then came to rest on him as he sat there in a shadowed corner. Hot Shot gasped, had he been spotted? Had he been seen? Sure his plating was yellow and quite noticeable, but he was dirty and covered in shadows—he thought that that at least could help him evade any trouble . . . it had so far.

With another gasp Hot Shot watched in fear as the Transformer nearly dragged himself over towards him. Hot Shot wanted to get away but he was stuck in the corner watching as the mech came closer and closer.

"No, no!" Hot Shot cried now realizing the 'bot had seen him and was coming closer to him. "Stay away!"

"Hush little one," the 'bot's voice came out soft—in his kind of a condition it even came out calm. "I'm not here to hurt you."

At that he fell to his knees, hitting the dark metallic ground quite hard. Hot Shot gasped and watched as the man bent forwards in pain, but no horrid cry escaped his injured lips. He clenched his teeth and tried his best to hold back the energon spilling from his wound—but it only helped a little.

"Listen to me little one," he groaned softly as he took out a small chip. "I need . . . I need you to take this."

Hot Shot was deaf to everything the 'bot was saying. His mind was solely fixed on the wound the 'bot carried and the amount of energon he was losing. He was scared, too scared to think about what or who this 'bot was so he hadn't felt anything as the 'bot reached out and opened his motherboard to place the chip securely inside.

"I need you to keep this transferred data—until, cough, until the others can find you," at that he coughed out a small amount of energon but still he had enough strength to pull his arm back and hold the empty chip in his hand. "Please keep it safe little one."

At that he crushed the chip in his hand and then stood up, trying to make his way back out of the alleyway to perhaps draw his enemies away from the sparkling. Hot Shot touched the back of his head where it had been opened to receive the data and then his optics followed the 'bot as he staggered his way out only to be met by three large and dark 'bots.

Hot Shot gasped once more as he watched in horror the three 'bots beat the wounded one. He fell to the ground and they were shouting something at him. He could barely talk with the low supply of energon he had left, but still they demanded something from him.

In horror Hot Shot watched them pull out guns on the mech and shoot his legs and arms. Hot Shot offlined his optical sensors and covered his audio receivers at the wretched sound. He hated the sound of cannon fire and wished it all to go away.

As he did this it was then he heard the largest of the 'bots demand once more in words he could make out.

"Where is it Autobot? !"

Hot Shot's optics onlined in time to see the beaten 'bot beneath the other two Transformers only hold up his arm and open his hand to reveal the smashed chip.

"Frag it all! He destroyed the chip!"

"Send him to the pit then!"

At that last command Hot Shot watched the two smaller 'bots take their guns and shoot into the Transformer's spark—instantly offlining him. Hot Shot shook all over he couldn't stop—he was scared, he had just watched someone murder another being before him. He had heard about such a thing, but never before had he seen anything like it.

"Hot Rod," Hot Shot whimpered as he covered his audios and offlined his optics once again.

He hadn't noticed that at his small whimper the others had heard him.

"What was that? !" one lower 'bot spoke up.

"There's someone here!" the other spoke.

Then, ruby red optics shined in Hot Shot's direction and instantly Hot Shot was found out. He gasped and saw the large 'bot coming near him. Trembling was all Hot Shot could do as the large horned 'bot neared him and looked down at his pathetic form.

"Tcheh, it's just a sparkling," he spoke up. "Pathetic thing."

"Should we kill it lord Megatron?" one of the lower Transformers spoke up.

"Not worth my time," the one known as Megatron turned, but looked back at the little one. "If you tell anyone about this little one—I'll return to offline you."

At that Hot Shot felt his very being freeze. He couldn't even feel his spark pulsating as the 'bots left, the lowers ones snickering at the frightened sparkling. It wasn't until they were gone did Hot Shot finally realize he was still alive.

On knocking knee rotators Hot Shot stood up and looked at the still dead, what they called, Autobot near the entrance of the alley. His small optics scanned around the dark area for anything else but when he found himself alone he quickly turned and ran back into his hiding spot. Burrowing himself far away into the debris and swearing to never come out again.

After all that had happened and all that he had seen he quickly began to cry. He didn't care if you had to be tough here to survive—he was still just a sparkling and he was still alive . . . but he was so frightened he didn't know what to do. So he cried—for his brother he cried.

"Ehhh heeeh, Hot Rod!" he cried as he held himself close and trembled even more at the enveloping darkness that cover him.

* * *

"Hhh. Preceptor," the large blue, red, and silver Transformer sighed as he looked down at his offlined old friend's corpse. "Not you too . . ."

"Optimus sir," came a soldier up to him, this one more white and in the shape of a Cybertronian jet. "I'm sorry we didn't find him in time."

"How he managed to get here is unknown," another Transformer spoke up, this one green and purple.

"Jetfire, Scavenger—did they find out if he had it?" Optimus turned to his two comrades and asked.

"Hhh, by what the others say—Preceptor probably destroyed it," Scavenger said, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, looks that way," Jetfire spoke up as he returned with a small, very small, piece of a chip that had been destroyed.

"Is that it?" Optimus asked.

"'Fraid so," Jetfire sighed. "The Decepticons must have taken the rest of it."

"This can't be good," Optimus gave out a frustrated sigh, pinching the brim of his nostril plating. "That data that he had was the last—the project's as good as over if—"

Optimus stopped mid-sentence upon noticing some other officers crowded around a pile of rubble, speaking to it even. Scavenger and Jetfire noticed the trail of Optimus' golden optics and so turned in the direction he watched.

"What is it?" Jetfire asked.

"You mechs there, what are you doing?" Scavenger called to the mechs who were supposed to be helping the other officers around the crime scene.

"Uh, sorry sir!" they turned and saluted their superiors. "But there's a young sparkling hiding in the ruble, he may have seen what happened, but we can't get him to come out."

"I see," Optimus said, coming forward and parting the officers. "Don't worry, I'll take it from here."

Everyone watched as Optimus crouched down low to where the small opening in the ruble was. He brightened his optics to reveal the small form inside—he looked frightened and wishing to be kept in the dark, unseen by all. With a soft unseen smile Optimus turned to his mechs that surrounded him and said—

"To coax out a sparkling you've got to know how to handle them—and," at that he took out an energon goody. "Know what they want."

"Hhh, here we go," Scavenger rolled his optics making Jetfire look confused.

"What is it sir?" Jetfire asked his superior.

"Hhh, anything to do with sparklings Optimus always jumps in first," Scavenger sighed knowing that his commander had always loved children.

"Come out little one," Optimus coaxed, holding out the energon goody just close enough to the cave for the little one to come out. "We mean you no harm. Are you alright in there?"

Hot Shot wished to not hear them, he wanted to just shut his audio receivers down and let the world pass him by, but he could hear everything and he was scared. He glanced at the one trying to get him out this time and one look at those soft glowing golden optics made something inside him feel . . . at peace.

"Come on out," Optimus soothed, continuing to wait patiently for him. "I'll wait here all day if I have to until you're ready to come out."

_He's going to . . . wait for me?_ Hot Shot asked himself, he didn't want anyone to wait for him for THAT long.

Soon his optics fell down upon the thing in the older Transformer's hand. It was a full energon goody. Hot Shot had eaten two known in his lifetime—they weren't even whole ones either, but all he knew was that he loved them.

Whenever Hot Rod would come across one they'd always share. Both sparklings loved them, and not to be greedy but sometimes Hot Shot wished he could have tons of tons of them all to himself—very sweet they were.

Hot Shot licked his dirtied lips; perhaps he could snatch it from the mech before he could see it. Hot Shot shifted and readied to pounce. After today's events he thought he deserved a whole energon goody!

With a grunt Hot Shot lunged at the goody and tried to snatch it into his tiny hands, but alas he had not kept an optic on the optics closely watching him and his movements. Instead of him snatching the goody away from the older Transformer he was snatched away from his hiding spot.

"Got you," Optimus said, gripping firmly at the back collar plate of the young sparkling.

"Ah!" Hot Shot squeaked and cried out, wiggling around to be let go and to his horror he was pressed firmly against the broad chest of the older Transformer.

"Hush now little one," Optimus cooed the young boy down. "I'm not going to harm you. Calm down."

Hot Shot didn't know why but . . . he liked being held like this . . . in the arms of a strong and large Transformer. The soft reverberating sound waves of his vocal processor seemed to calm the wild child to a still and slowly Hot Shot felt . . . safe.

With a blink the young sparkling looked up at the 'bot who looked down at him with soft gentle opticals. Then he looked down, noticing that in his hand the goody remained. He looked back up at the older mech as he said—

"You can have it if you want little one."

Again Hot Shot looked down at the energon goody in his hand, but did nothing. He felt embarrassment creeping over him—what with all the strange optics looking at him. His cheek plates began to spark and soon he buried his head into the broad chest of the one holding him.

"Eh, heh, heh, cute isn't he?" Jetfire chuckled until Optimus gazed at him warily.

"Now, now son . . . don't be afraid, we're all friendly here," Optimus softly bounced the young child like a mother-creator would her newly birthed protoform.

"Optimus sir, no disrespect or anything, but this sector of Tyger Pax doesn't know much of friendliness," Scavenger spoke up.

"I understand," Optimus nodded as he gazed back down at the yellow and red sparkling in his arms. "Little one . . . what's your name?"

The young boy popped his head up and gazed at him with the brightest, biggest, protoform blue optics anyone had seen. He looked as if he were about to tell when he bit his tongue and held the information back.

"Ah, I see," Optimus softly smiled. "It's rude to ask someone's name without telling theirs right? Well, my name is Optimus Prime little one; I'm the leader of the Autobots—and a dear friend of the one who was offlined here today. May you tell me your name?"

Hot Shot wanted to, he did, but Hot rod had told him to never tell his name to strangers and well . . . this mech was a stranger—right? Though . . . in truth he didn't feel like one.

"Hhh, we're getting nowhere sir!" Jetfire groaned in response. "Maybe his vocals are gone."

"I don't believe so," Optimus said as he lifted the boy's chin and rubbed a well-built neck, with a well-processed vocal processor. "He can speak, he's just shy is all."

"Hot Shot," the youngling suddenly spoke up, surprising most.

"Hot Shot?" Optimus asked. "That's a nice name. Do you have any creators?"

Hot Shot only shook his head negatively. Optimus sighed . . . another orphan of the war apparently, and so young. It was wrong that there were so many unattended for—they need homes and proper taking care of, if they continued to live like this then . . . then . . .

"Do you have anyone taking care of you?" Optimus asked.

Hot Shot nodded 'yes' and then said—

"A brother."

"I see, and was he here during my friend's murder?" Optimus asked, his features softening knowing that if one was to speak with a child one would have to possess much gentleness and patience.

Hot Shot shook his head 'no' and Optimus only nodded.

"Did you see the ones who offlined him?" Optimus asked.

Hot Shot glanced down, his optics darkening before he slowly said—

"There were three of them . . . one bigger than the others . . . they called him . . . Megatron."

"Megatron," Optimus' features darkened like everyone else's there. "Well . . . at least we're getting somewhere."

* * *

"Get anything Jazz?" Hot Rod came up with a sack slung across his shoulders, he was lucky today—him and Hot Shot should have enough supplies to last for a good number of weeks.

"Yeah, check it out," Jazz showed what he had gotten.

"That's nothing," Tracks came up and showed his.

"Didn't get much guys," Blaster sighed, but was glad for the others. "We'd better split the earnings."

"Right," Tracks nodded. "One and a half fourths goes to Hot Rod as always."

"I appreciate this guys," Hot Rod nodded as his friends handed him the shares calculated for him and his brother and then divided the rest up among themselves.

"No sweat," Jazz waved it off. "You have two mouths to feed, with us it's just one."

"Seriously though," Hot Rod said. "You guys are the only friends I have after all this mess that had happened to me and Shoty, I can't thank you enough."

"We're all orphaned by the war buddy," Blaster said. "Forgotten by Decepticons and Autobots alike—unwanted, so who will look after us if not each other?"

"You're right," Hot Rod smiled. "Well . . . I'm sure Shoty's worried, better head back. See you guys later."

"Bye Hot Rod, tell your brother I said hi!" Tracks waved Hot Rod off as he left.

After bidding his friends farewell Hot Rod jogged back to Hot Shot. He knew he'd be so happy to see him and what he had gotten. Reaching in his bag he pulled out two energon goodies he managed to swipe from two teenage Transformers. Hot Shot would be so happy to have one all to himself—he loved these things.

Maneuvering through the dark alleys and past dark 'bots he finally found the small ruined alley they called home only to find it occupied with others than just his brother. He stopped, seeing Autobot officers crowding around it and scanning it thoroughly.

"Hot Shot!" Hot Rod gasped praying to Primus that his little brother was okay.

He scanned around and noticed an offlined 'bot lying near the entrance surrounded by signs prohibiting any 'bot from entering. His sapphire optics soon came to rest on the form of his little brother . . . who was in the arms of a stranger, looking more frightened than ever!

"Hot Shot!" Hot Rod gasped as he put his sack down and clenched his fists so tight that he could hear the metal groaning in his hands.

He bared his teeth and clenched them hard. How dare anyone touch his brother? ! How DARE they! He should have stayed with Hot Shot, or at least brought him along so something like this wouldn't have happened.

Autobot or Decepticon, it didn't matter! No one touches his brother and gets away with it!

"HOT SHOT! !" he cried out as he charged the place, and the mech who held his brother.

Suddenly, without warning he rammed the 'bot holding his brother, just as he turned to watch him charge. He hit him so hard that he fell to the ground, knocking him completely off him feet.

Into his arms Hot Rod took up his brother and held him deadly close. He could feel his brother still trembling and so glared with hatred at the one he decided had caused it.

"How DARE you touch my brother!" Hot Rod spat as he glared at the fallen Transformer who looked mighty surprised at his predicament.

"Prime!" the officers around him said as they readied to strike the juvenile down.

"Hold," Optimus said, getting back up and wiping the dirt off of him. "So you're his brother?"

"You told him Shoty?" Hot Rod asked, not believing his brother had actually spoken to a complete stranger. "I thought I told you to NEVER speak to strangers!"

"I'm sorry," Hot Shot cried, burying his face into his brother's shoulder and crying.

"No need to yell at him," Optimus said, trying to calm the older one's rage. "I meant him no harm. I was just asking him a few questions."

"Stay away!" Hot Rod spat, backing away from the officers, making sure to be careful of what each one did. "Don't think that just because you're Autobots means you're the good guys! All of you, all of you are deserters! Just leave us alone like you always have!"

"Wait, you don't understand," Optimus said. "Your brother has just witnessed a murder of a scientist who was of great importance to us and the Decepticons—if you take him away—"

"Just stay back!" Hot Rod spat. "Don't act like you care about us all of the sudden! We're the forgotten children of Cybertron—so just forget you ever saw us!"

At that Hot Rod turned and darted off with his brother in arm. Jetfire about transformed to chase them down.

"They're getting away!" he said, boosting his engines.

"Wait," Optimus stopped him with a sigh. "If they wish to be alone then let them be."

"But Optimus," Jetfire complained. "That kid—he could . . ."

"I know . . . I'll have to speak to the council about this," Optimus said. "They'll stay in this sector so if we need to we'll come back—but right now all the boy saw was the murder, nothing more."

"It's a shame," Scavenger sighed. "These forgotten children they called themselves. They should be brought to Autobot city in Iacon and given out to families who can care for them. This sector may be close to Decepticon territory, but it is still in Autobot lines."

"I know," Optimus sighed heavily. "I had no idea there were so many here. By the way the older one sounded there were more than just those two living here—stealing what they need and surviving however they can. It's not right, I agree. This is why I'm going to speak to the council—perhaps they can do something about it. Hurry and get what evidence you need here and then take Preceptor's body back to Autobot city—we'll deal with this matter later."

"Sir!" they all said with a salute.

* * *

"Rody, where are we going?" Hot Shot asked, his brother seemed to have been running for hours.

"Far away, okay," Hot Rod said as he hopped over debris and ruble to a place that was secluded and surrounded enough to not be seen by anyone near.

Once they reached a reasonable hiding spot Hot Rod put Hot Shot down and made sure he wasn't followed. He sighed and came back to his little brother with a smile on his face.

"Shoty, guess what I have? Look!" at that he pulled out the two energon goodies he swiped and showed his brother . . . only, when he showed him he found that Hot Shot was already sporting another energon goody. "What is that?"

"An energon goody. That nice mech gave it to me," Hot Shot smiled up at his big brother who didn't look too pleased.

Hot Shot's smile faded, seeing the sneer on his brother's face never meant anything good. Hot Rod usually gave him this look when Hot Shot had been a bad boy and done something wrong, but for the life of him he couldn't think of what he had done.

Hot Rod exhaled steam and snatched the energon goody out of his little brother's grasp. Hot Shot squeaked at the sudden snatch and watched helplessly as Hot Rod turned and threw the goody towards the nearest wall, smashing it into pieces.

"Uh!" Hot Shot cried, his little arms still reaching out to the nice treat the mech had given him. "Why'd you do that Rody? !"

"It could have been poisoned," Hot Rod sneered, his fists still clenched tight as he looked away from his brother towards the shattered remains of the treat where only cyberrats would eat now.

"Eh, really?" Hot Shot blinked in confusion, looking towards the shattered remains, not long afterwards watching a pack of cyberrats come out and devour it . . . for some reason Hot Shot didn't believe his brother and felt like he was going to cry.

Hot Shot sniffled, trying to hold back his tears. It's not like he didn't want to believe his brother like he always had it was just that he was old enough to know right and wrong and what Hot Rod did was wrong, that nice older mech gave him that and he knew for sure it wasn't poisoned!

"Hhh, Shoty don't cry," Hot Rod sighed with a roll of his head and optics. "It was just an energon goody, and look . . ." at that he turned and dug into his bag he had snatched up when they ran from the officers. "I nabbed two goodies, one for you and one for me."

Hot Shot looked at them and then at his brother, the look in his optical sensors still telling Hot Rod he was upset with him. With another defeated sigh Hot Rod came up to his brother and sat down next to him.

"Don't be like that Shoty," Hot Rod said, scooting closer to his brother who seemed to not want to face him. "Shoty," Hot Rod spoke in a warning tone, this always made his brother look at him at least.

Hot Shot turned his optics to his brother, the look on his face still shown he was upset. Hot Rod only smiled at him like he would always and then wrapped his arm around his brother's tiny shoulders.

"You have to understand Shoty . . . those people could care less about us," he said, his sapphire blue optics gazing into nothingness. "They were the ones who abandoned us first."

"Yeah but . . ." Hot Shot sniffled. "That mech was nice, I know he was."

"That's what they want you to think Shoty," Hot Rod warned, looking at his brother with careful optics. "But in truth they only show affection towards us to make them feel better and look good. They'll be nice to you today when tomorrow they'd all-in-all reject you."

"They would?" Hot Shot asked, rubbing his nose and gazing more at his brother whom he knew knew everything.

"Yeah," Hot Rod sighed out heavily. "That's what they're like."

"I . . . I didn't know," Hot Shot said, his optics facing downward. "But . . . what's a Prime, Rody?"

"A Prime?" Hot Rod suddenly didn't know why his brother had brought this up, but he was going to tell him. "Why do you ask?"

"That nice—er—_fake_ mech told me his name was Optimus Prime, is Prime important?" Hot Shot was curious now; Hot Rod could see it in his features.

"Well," Hot Rod sighed, scratching the side of his faceplate. "From what I heard from the guys—is that Primes are supposed to be the rulers of the planet."

"Like kings?" Hot Shot asked, his face all bright and opticals a sparkle.

"Yeah, something like that," Hot Rod rubbed the back of his helmet. "But that was a long time ago, now there's not that many and they don't rule like kings anymore. In fact, I won't be surprised if that Optimus Prime is the last of his lineage."

"You mean there's no more of his family?" Hot Shot asked, his features saddening at the thought of someone being all alone with no brothers or creators.

"Doubt it Shoty," Hot Rod sighed, rubbing his little brother's head gently.

"It must be sad to be all alone," Hot Shot glanced down and clasped his hands together. "Don't you think?"

Hot Rod was silent for a little while. Why did his brother always have to feel sorry for the ones who didn't deserve it? Oh well, he was only 5 millennia so it was understandable for him to feel for others in those ways.

"Yeah, I guess so," Hot Rod wished Hot Shot would just drop the subject already.

It wasn't right to feel for the enemy and Hot Shot was doing just that. He didn't know why that Optimus Prime had to pick on his little brother's emotions like that, but he should have never let Hot Shot out of his sight—from now on he stays with him.

"From now on Shoty . . . you're staying with me," Hot Rod said, pulling Hot Shot to his side and leaning his head against his brother's.

"You mean always?" Hot Shot's mood suddenly perked as he turned to his brother with beaming optics. "Can I come with you when you're out getting things? !"

"Hm, hm, sure," Hot Rod smiled, glad to have his old brother back again. "But keep up this time, don't want you getting hurt alright."

"Alright! I promise I will!" Hot Shot chirped happily, today's events momentarily forgotten.

"Here's your energon goody, all to yourself," Hot Rod smiled and gave the goody to the little one who happily took it up.

"Yay!" he cheered as he took it and began to devour it.

Hot Rod smiled as he watched his little brother happily eat it, showing how much he enjoyed them as he smiled at his brother thankfully. Hot Rod smiled back before his mainframe took him back to today's earlier events and how that mech was holding his little brother like he was his own sparkling. Hot Rod knew that Hot Shot doesn't remember their parent-creators too well and he wished he would have . . . so he'd never replace them ever in his spark.

Hot Rod tried his best to explain what their parent-creators looked like. How their mother-creator was a bright yellow, much like the color Hot Shot is, only brighter, and how their father-creator was a crimson like none other. Hot Rod resembled his father-creator the most and remembered how strong he was, how much he loved his family. It saddened Hot Rod as he remembered how their happy family had come to an end in such a tragic way . . . but then again . . . many of his friends families met their fate in similar fashions, the only difference is that Hot Rod managed to save Hot Shot . . . they were left all alone, no parent-creators, no siblings—nothing.

That was why Hot Rod was so protective over Hot Shot. He was his last family member he had left and he'd do anything to keep him safe—anything.

Even if they lived in this Primus-forsaken sector of the planet he was content just being here with his brother. As long as they were left alone and survived was good enough for him.


	2. Searching For An Orphan

**Hot Shot's girl: Quick update 'cause I feel like it so hope you enjoy :D By the favs and alerts I'd say many people like this story. Thanx! I'm really glad!**

"Hm, that is a shame that Preceptor had to meet his end," the High Council spoke as Optimus Prime reported in on the situation of things. "Does this mean the project is postponed?"

"Postponed?" Optimus questioned. "It shall be cancelled if we cannot retrieve the lost data."

"Hhh, that is a true shame," they said, many bowing their heads. "This project was supposed to help in the war against those Decepticons. It could very well end it as well."

"I know that, but hear me out," Optimus spoke up. "We have retrieved only a small part of the chip Preceptor had placed the destroyed data on, and after having our best analysts on it we found that there is no data any longer on it."

"Meaning he never had it in the first place?" they asked, many elders leaning forward in their seats.

"Not exactly," Optimus said. "It looks as if he transferred the data into something else."

"What else could he transfer such highly secret data in?" they asked.

"We're still unsure of that," Optimus replied. "But it could be in another Transformer."

"Is that so?" they asked, all leaning back in their seats. "Your reports also speaks of a witness who had seen the crime—a young sparkling orphan is what I heard. Could it have been transferred into him?"

"Now we're not jumping to conclusions yet," Optimus held up his hands in defense. "It could have been another Transformer for all we kno—"

"Yes but we have no leads on anything," they said. "As far as well know it could be the child."

"Yes but if you—" Optimus started again.

"From what we are told, that sector holds many orphans of the war," they said, holding up many files of data. "Is it not the Autobots job to take care of the orphans and widows?"

"Sirs, may I just—" Optimus tried to speak his thoughts to them, but again they cut him off.

"We also heard you let the orphan go, and so since it is our duty to take care of them we will have retrievers enter the sector and take the orphans out and bring them to Iacon. Autobot city will be a good place for them to find suitable homes than the slums where they live in."

"But sirs, if you do this, this will alert the Decepticons and make them think that the data was transferred into one of the orphans, and if they think this they'll know which one to look for!" Optimus tried to warn them, but by the looks on their faces they were unmoved.

"Have no fear Optimus Prime, our retrievers are good at finding orphans, they'll find him before the Decepticons do," the High Council spoke, unafraid of any consequence.

"But you don't understand," Optimus stepped forward. "He has a brother who knows the sector and has been avoiding such 'retrievers' for centuries."

"Then we shall get the best," they said, the look on most of their faces were that of annoyance. "That is all Optimus Prime, you are dismissed."

"But sirs," Optimus tried once more.

"You—are—dismissed!" they said, raising their tone a little to make sure Optimus got the point.

"Hhh, yes sirs," Optimus sighed as he turned and marched out of the council room.

He didn't like it when the High Council believed they knew everything and what was always best, when in truth they didn't. It frustrated Optimus to no end and he knew that once this order was issued the Decepticons would get word of it and figure it out.

"Those two are in danger," Optimus sighed, remembering the two young orphans who had fled from the scene.

"Optimus, sir, how'd it go?" came Jetfire, coming up to Optimus and ask.

"They believe the data was transferred into that young orphan," Optimus sighed out heavily.

"So, isn't that what you thought as well?" Jetfire asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes, but now they are going to make a mess of things and send in retrievers in that sector to take up all the orphans! No doubt they'll alert the Decepticons as well."

"Oh, yeah that's not good," Jetfire agreed.

"The pit? !" came a deeper voice, making the two turn to see an oncoming pissed Scavenger

"What's he so upset about?" Jetfire asked.

"I can take a guess," Optimus sighed, placing his fists on his hips and leaning on one leg.

"Prime what is the deal with the retrievers going to flush out all the orphans in sector 11 of Tyger Pax? ! Do you have any idea what the Decepticons will think when they get word of this? !"

"I know old friend," Optimus sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down. "That is why we're going to have to go down there to find him first."

"I agree, the sooner the better," Scavenger nodded. "No doubt the Decepticons have already caught word—slag they probably already know which one to look for."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Jetfire asked as he turned, readying to rocket off.

* * *

"They think he transferred the data into another Transformer do they?" Megatron pondered this new information that his recon team had found out.

"That is what we found out my lord," Soundwave said with a bow.

"Sire, do you suppose it was that sparkling orphan who witnessed the scene?" Shockwave suggested.

"It is highly possible," Soundwave spoke up. "The High Council elders have initiated a sweep of sector 11 in Tyger Pax for any lost orphans."

"Is that so," Megatron mumbled to himself, rubbing his pointed chin in thought. "Then I suppose they believe the data has been passed onto a youngling. Then we have no choice but to act quickly and find that orphan before they do. Shockwave—send scouts out around the area for that sparkling we saw. We have to find him before the Autobots do. There's no telling what they'll do if they get a hold of that data."

"Sir!" his mechs bowed before turning darting off.

* * *

"Are we leaving the sector Rody?" Hot Shot asked as he hopped over ruble after ruble of fallen buildings and collapsed walls.

"No," Hot Rod said, turning to his brother. "We're just heading some ways off so not to attract any attention."

"Farther away from the town?" Hot Shot blinked in confusion. "What about the supplies we'll need? How are we going to find those out here?"

"We'll go back when we run out alright," Hot Rod said, wishing his brother would drop it already—sometimes he could just be a jitter-mouth.

"What about our friends?" Hot Shot continued to press the matter further.

"Hhh, what about them Hot Shot?" Hot Rod groaned, rolling his head towards the little one.

"Yeah—what about us?" came familiar voices.

Hot Shot's head instantly snapped in time to see Jazz and Blaster making their own way through the ruble towards their fellow orphans.

"Jazz! Blaster!" Hot Shot squealed as he ran up to them and hugged the both of them.

"Whoa, hey their little Shoty," Jazz chuckled feeling as if the boy was trying to bend his metallic platting right off. "Did you miss us that much?"

"Uh-huh," Hot Shot nodded as he looked up at the two mechs who were around the same age as his brother. "I didn't get to see you earlier and I'm not so happy now!"

"Daw, ain't he the cutest thing," Blaster giggled.

"Hm?" Suddenly Hot Shot began looking around as if for something.

"What is it little guy?" Jazz asked, bending down to the short 'bot.

"Where's Tracks?" He asked, shinning his protoform blue opticals up at the two making them secretly melt inside.

"Oh, he's getting some more supplies," Blaster said. "Said he'd catch up with us later."

"Wait! Are we going to be living together? !" Hot Shot's optics brightened even more making him look as cute as a neuralbeast newborn.

"That's right little mech," Jazz smiled as he rubbed the boy's head. "Hot Rod sent us messages explaining what happened."

"Oh . . . you told them?" Hot Shot asked, his tone lower as he turned to his brother.

"Yeah, I did Shoty. I think now's a good time if we start living together from now on. It'll make things easier this way," Hot Rod said as he hopped down off a collapsed building and down in the midst of his friends.

"Why?" Hot Shot asked.

"Hhh, always full of questions aren't we?" Hot Rod shook his head and chuckled.

"I'm a sparkling. Of course I am," Hot Shot replied, sticking his nose in the air, making everyone else laugh.

"Yeah he is," Blaster chuckled.

"So where's this place we're gonna be hanging out at?" Jazz asked, placing his fists on his hips.

"Over here," Hot Rod smiled as he led the way, the others closely behind him.

* * *

"Hmph, this would help so much better if the guys were here," Track complained as he sat in a shadowed corner, waiting for a helpless passerbyer to come so he could nab their goods.

His opticals brightened once he located the perfect person to snatch from. It was a tall slender, but slightly built, femme, her armor plating was a deep blue and she was much more shinier than the other slugs here so she must be loaded.

"Haven't stolen from a femme in a long while," Tracks giggled to himself as he rubbed his hands and waited until she passed by him.

She walked around looking at the town as if she was scanning it into memory for some unknown reason. She could be lost, but he could care less. All he cared about was the money she had on her.

"Gotcha!" Tracks blurted as he lunged out of the shadows and grabbed a hold of her supply pack that rested neatly on her white hips.

Before he knew it though the femme retaliated and suddenly he was the one grabbed, with his face forced into the dirty ground. Never before had he seen a femme fight back . . . she must be an officer.

"Aha!" Tracks groaned, feeling the sludge cake his face plating—as if he wasn't filthy enough.

"An orphan huh?" she said as she scanned him over, keeping him pinned to the ground quite professionally. "So this is sector 11."

"What?" Tracks muttered, suddenly being made stand to his feet to see she wasn't alone.

"Chromia, ma'am, we've found others," came more mechs, all holding young sparklings in their grasps, some Track's age, some much younger.

"Good job boys," she said, tugging Tracks around quite roughly. "We need to round them all up as soon as possible, those are the orders!"

At that she pushed Tracks forward, which he was caught by a mech who quickly bound his arms, making sure he had no chance to escape. Too much confusion was running through Tracks' mainframe that it became almost unbearable to think

"What the frag's going on? !" he whispered to himself as he and the other orphans around the vicinity were rounded up and made to march in a straight line to a carrier.

"They've finally come to round us up!" another orphan near him said, his limbs trembling.

"I want to go home!" cried another who was much younger than him.

_No!_ Tracks thought as he looked ahead, watching all the captured orphans pass into the carriers, a mech standing off to the side to record their names, parentage, and ages. _They're taking us out of the sector for good!_

His optics searched for any insignia on the 'bots and found the red face—it was the Autobots. Well of course they were Autobots, who else would 'pretend' to care about the homeless and the creator-less. Still though, no one asked for them to suddenly care for them so why in the pit are they doing this now? !

"Gasp! The guys! What are they going to do? !" Tracks whispered to himself. "They need to be warned!"

He looked around, trying to find any way out—but as far as he knew he was surrounded by countless Autobot officers with loaded weapons and a mean look on their face. There was no way he was getting anywhere.

"Great . . . I'm fragged," Tracks laughed at the irony.

_Well, if I' can't warn them myself then I'll send them a signal_, Tracks said to himself as he locked onto their codes and began to relay a message to them.

Just as Tracks attempted this a sudden jabbing pain erupted inside his mainframe and he lurched forward crying out in pain.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you kid," an officer near Tracks said with a smirk. "We have signal jammers with us so if any of your get the idea to warn your little buddies of our arrival then you'll be getting a splitting reboot."

Tracks could hear frightened gasps around him, but that was all. His sole attention was on his aching motherboard that seemed to be caught on fire.

"What's going on here? !" suddenly the tall blue femme came, the look on her face was that she wasn't too pleased with the commotion going about.

"Sorry ma'am, but this young 'bot here tried to send out a message to his friends, no doubt trying to warn them of us coming," the Autobot officer said, turning to salute to the higher-ranking officer 'bot.

"I see," Chromia said as she looked at the young ruffian before coming to stand up on a high place where everyone could see her and hear her well.

"Orphans of Tyger Pax, sector 11! We are here to gather all of you and give you better lives than you have here! At Autobot city you will be placed on waiting lists until a suitable family can be found for you—or, those who are old enough will be placed into the Autobot Academy to train and become fine young officers! Whatever the outcome you will have a better life so please! Don't look at us as the evil ones—we are trying to help you!"

"Sure," Tracks mumbled as he watched them carry on—bringing in more and more orphans by the hour.

Tracks knew what was going to become of him. He was going to be put in some military academy to be trained to offline, and then be put out on the front lines to only be offlined. That was how everything went. So if that was going to be his fate then sobeit—but at least let his friends get away . . . he didn't want them sharing the same fate.

War was war after all.

* * *

"Well—I must say _Rody_, this is pretty amazing," Jazz smiled with a nod of the head.

"Yeah—better than my old place, and that place wasn't half bad neither," Blaster replied as they looked at the new 'home' Hot Rod had found for them.

"Yeah, you'd be surprised what a little digging through broken down and collapsed buildings could do," Hot Rod said with a grin. "There was actually a whole pocket of room this size about teen feet under."

"Seriously—this has enough space for like . . . 30 of us guys!" Jazz said, trotting around the cavity, sizing it up.

"I know right," Hot Rod chuckled and then looked down at his brother beside him. "What do you think of this place Shoty?"

"Mmm," Hot Shot mumbled, banging his fingers together in what seemed like dislike.

"Huh? What's the matter Shoty?" Hot Rod asked kneeling down to his brother to find out what was wrong. "Do you not like it here? Look, it's bigger and more secluded than our old staying place. What do you say?"

"Um—well, I was wondering . . ." Hot Shot began, kicking up some rubble with the toe of his foot.

"Vocalize it out already," Hot Rod chuckled at the trouble his brother was having wording sentences.

"What do you think it's like to live in a nice city?" Hot Shot's optics suddenly shined with wonder, his lips forming a wide admiring smile.

Hot Rod let out a heavy sigh before looking at his buddies in the background. They all shrugged before he sighed once more and bowed.

"Look—Shoty, why are you thinking of all these things?" Hot Rod asked.

"No reason," Hot Shot mumbled with a pout, bowing his head and kicking at the ruble at his feet.

"Is it because of that mech? Did he give you all these ideas?" Hot Rod asked.

"I can think for myself Rody," Hot Shot sniffed, his features becoming more annoyed than pouting. "They're my ideas—no one else's."

"Yeah, but you never starting asking me all these questions like these since that happened," Hot Rod said, leaning up and placing his fists on his hips.

"I've always thought about them," Hot Shot began to pout once more. "Ever since you told me we used to live in a nice home—with a father-creator—and mother-creator."

"Uh-oh, brother-to-brother talk," Blaster whispered in Jazz's audio receiver. "Maybe we should leave them alone."

"Good idea," Jazz nodded back at his red friend. "Uh—hey, Hot Rod, Tracks is late and so me and Blaster here are gonna go see if he got lost again. Later."

"Bye guys," Hot Rod said, watching his friends crawl out of the exit they entered and leave the two of them alone. "Alright," Hot Rod sighed and came to sit next to where Hot Shot stood. "You want to sit and talk about this?"

"No!" Hot Shot 'hmphed' as he sat down anyways.

"Look Shoty, I'm sorry you don't remember and everything, but . . .your life wasn't always like this. We once had creators and a place to call home that was worth calling home . . . not places like this—I'm sorry I can't do better for you Hot Shot . . ." Hot Rod offlined his optics and bowed his head, letting the shadows cover his features.

"No, no," Hot Shot shook his head and touched his brother's arm. "I don't mind these places Rody, really . . . it's just . . . I'd like to know . . . what it's like . . . to live in a building that's not fallen over—or to have real creators."

"We had real creators Hot Shot!" Hot Rod turned on his brother, his tone rising. "You want to replace them? !"

"N-Never," Hot Shot shook his head, trembling at how harsh his brother's tone was towards him. "B-But I'd like to know what it's like to have them again . . . you know, since I don't remember."

"I see—so you're saying you want that Optimus Prime to be your father-creator? ! Is that it? ! You want to replace the one who created you? !" Hot Rod was getting snappier by the minute and was frightening Hot Shot.

"I never said that!" Hot Shot suddenly shot up and began yelling back, surprising his older brother quite a bit, never before had he ever heard his little brother yell at him—until now. "I just want to know what it's like! What's wrong with that? Eh, heh!"

At that Hot Shot turned and crawled out of the cave, crying at everything. Even though he was young he still had seen other sparklings on the shoulders their father-creators, holding hands with their mother-creator. Was it wrong for Hot Shot to want that? Was it wrong for him to want to remember what it was like when he had them?

He didn't think so.

"Hhhuh! Shoty!" Hot Rod got up and chased after him knowing he needed to make amends with him—who was he to tell him things like that? Who was he to yell at his only living relative he had left in this Primus-cursed world?

* * *

"What is all this?" Optimus whispered, stopping to take in the horrible sight.

He looked around and all he saw was carriers being filled with bound sparklings looking as if they were being ripped away from the arms of their creators. This was not the Autobot way to handle things!

"Oh, Optimus Prime sir, we didn't know you were going to be paying a visit," an officer saluted the commander as he noticed him.

"What is all this soldier? !" Optimus came up with Scavenger and Jetfire in tow.

"Uh—us gathering the orphans like ordered—sir?" the officer wasn't sure of what Optimus' question was, by his tone it sounded as if he wasn't too happy about what he saw.

"They look more like prisoners!" Optimus said, looking at each sad little face—he never knew there were so many in this war-torn sector.

"It's just a precaution, sir," the officer nodded. "They might run away thinking we're kidnapping them when in truth we are rescuing them to give them better homes."

"Well I can understand why they would mistake you for kidnappers!" Optimus said as he pushed past the officer and marched over to the one in lead of this—a close friend of his, Chromia. "Chromia—what is the meaning of all this? !"

"Oh, Optimus Prime sir," she saluted and then smiled. "Didn't expect to see you here. Come to oversee?"

"No, but why are you suddenly snatching these children from the only home they've ever known and blindly throwing them into carriers? !" Optimus demanded to know.

"I don't like it either sir," she said, shaking her head. "But the High Council demand we do this as quick as possible and so this is the only method possible for such a feat." She then turned towards a group of her mechs towing older orphans into a carrier and said, "Hey! Put those on the carrier headed to the academy! They're old enough to enroll!"

"Hhhuh! I don't have time for this!" Optimus groaned, pinching the brim of his nose plating. "Look, we're looking for two orphans—they'd be brothers."

"We have plenty of those," Chromia said, tapping her foot, wishing the chief would be more specific.

"No, no, one would be very young, around 5 millennia perhaps and the other would be around 13 millennia," Optimus said. "The young one is of a bright yellow and red plating and his brother is of a red and orange plating. The little one's name was Hot Shot—do you have anyone reported like that?"

"Hhh, let me see," Chromia rubbed her neck plates as she brought out her data and scanned over it. "Hhh, sorry Optimus, but there's no one of such description. But don't worry, I'm sure if you wait here we'll bring them in."

"I don't have time for that!" Optimus said. "The Deceptions may be after them, I need to find them now!"

"Wait—did you say Hot Shot?" came a young voice, making the two turn to see a young 'bot of about 13 millennia or so, dark blue plating and a bright red face.

"Do you know him?" Optimus came up to the youth who was about ready to get shipped to the Autobot Academy.

"Well," the 'bot said, glancing downward and biting his bottom lip, he didn't want to betray his friends' whereabouts but if it was a matter of life or death then he'd surely tell them. "I know him and his brother. My name's Tracks, and, well—I was supposed to meet them on the outskirts of sector 11 where it mashes into the next sector. Hot Rod, Hot Shot's brother, had found a place for us all to live . . ."

"Thank-you for telling me this young one," Optimus thanked the 'bot as he placed his hand on his shoulder and nodded.

"Please—keep them safe if the Decepticons are after them," Tracks said, fear in his optics.

"I will, thank-you again," with that Optimus darted off.

"Uh! Wait sir!" Jetfire called towards him.

"You and Scavenger stay here and oversee this gathering!' Optimus called back to them. "Make sure it's done right!"

"Yes sir!" Jetfire saluted, Scavenger just nodded.

* * *

"Shoty!" Hot Rod called out as he ran after his brother. "Slow down and let me talk to you!"

"No!" Hot Shot cried behind him. "I've had enough of your talks!"

"Err!" Hot Rod groaned, Hot Shot picked a good time to throw a temper tantrum. "Shoty!"

"Go away!" Hot Shot cried, offlining his optics and blindly running forward as fast as his little legs could carry him.

He didn't get far though. In about a minute of blindly running he found himself falling backwards onto his aft after ramming right into something.

"Ugh!" he grunted, onlining his optics to find out what he had ran into.

Hot Shot looked up to find he had ran into a tall dark mech. He looked down at him with a single bright glowing optic.

"Ah, there you are sparkling," the mech said as he bent down and grabbed a hold of him.

"AH! No! Let go!" Hot Shot cried, trying to run out of his grasp only to be lifted carelessly into the air, his little legs dangling.

"Let's see," the mech that held him muttered to himself as he turned the youngling and opened his mainframe.

"Aha! No!' Hot Shot cried, he wanted him out of his head now!

"Yes, looks like the data was transferred to you," the large 'bot said with a nod as he tapped at the glowing mainframe full of secret data the Autobot tried to hide from the Decepticons. "Lord Megatron will be pleased with my finding."

"HOT SHOT!" Hot Rod cried, seeing his brother in the grasp of that large dark 'bot made him burn inside.

His clenched his teeth together and instantly transformed for quicker speed. He hadn't had to do this in a long time, but now it called for it. Zooming quickly he caught the large 'bot off-guard.

"What the?" the 'bot said, turning to see a small terrestrial vehicle zoom in and skid to the left, swinging right under his feet and knocking him over. "Ah!"

Hot Rod transformed and quickly picked his brother up. As he did this he noticed the back of his helmet plating had been shifted open. He quickly shut it and turned to his brother.

"Are you alright Shoty? !" he asked, scanning him over good. "We have to get out of here, come on!"

At that Hot Rod plopped Hot Shot onto his back and started off. He would tell Hot Shot to transform if he could but he was still too young to scan any form and he was too slow when running so he had no choice but to run for the both of them. Hot Shot clung on tightly as he wrapped his little arms around his big brother's neck and his face buried into his brother's back.

"What the slag do they want? !" Hot Rod spoke to himself, often glancing back to see if they were being followed.

"Rody!" Hot Shot shouted for him to look ahead but once he had he found another tall dark 'bot blocking their way.

With quick thinking Hot Rod darted to the right and ran down a known alley into another street. Hot Rod could feel his brother trembling, he was scared—and he should be . . . it was people like those who offlined their creators and would, more or likely, offline them.

_Why are they after us? !_ Hot Rod tried to figure it out but he couldn't, the only reason he could think of that may possibly be the reason was the fact that Hot Shot had witnessed them murder someone important. _Do they want to offline all the witnesses? !_

Hot Rod looked back at his brother who had offlined his optics, trying to block out all the terror he had been exposed to. Hot Rod didn't wish to see him like this, but what else could he do? Especially if they sought out his brother's life!

_No! I'll never let them touch him! I'm his big brother and I'll protect him with the last pulse of my spark!_ Hot Rod swore as he picked up the speed and ran faster through the emptied torn up streets.

He should have never left the town. At least there they were bound to run into an Autobot officer or two who would stop these pursuers. Hot Rod glanced back behind him and saw that even more had joined the chase—there were three and no doubt there'd be more!

_Frag! How do I lose them? !_ Hot Rod desperately sought for that answer but as he did, the ground beneath him vanished and he was sent spiraling in the air.

He hit the ground hard, hard enough to knock his brother off of his back and skid some yards from him. Hot Rod tried to get up as quick as possible, but his knee rotator was malfunctioning and so were his insides. He held onto his abdomen and coughed up something liquid. Looking at his hand he saw his own energon lubricating his fingers.

Hot Rod quickly brought his attention back to his brother once he found someone stepping over him. He turned to see it was one of their pursuers and instantly a heavy foot was pressed onto him. Hot Rod groaned along with the metal plates the were bending under the pressure the 'bot had placed on him.

"Stay down if you know what's good for ya, kid," the 'bot above him chuckled, teasingly applying more pressure.

"Errr, Hot Shot!" Hot Rod cried, turning his head towards his little brother who had skidded to a halt against a broken wall, he was slowly getting up and once he laid optics on his brother he cried out in horror.

"RODY!" he cried, his hands covering his mouth as his optics brightened in horror, he had never seen his brother in a condition like this.

"Come here you little Autobot sparkling," the tall purple one with the single optic said as he came over to tower above him and snatch him up again.

"No, no!" Hot Shot cried, trying to scoot as far as he could away from the menacing 'bot, but failing miserably as the 'bot bent down and outstretched his arm to take up the small sparkling.

"HOT SHOT! ! !" Hot Rod cried out to his little brother, he felt so helpless watching someone take his little brother and possibly harm him—and he couldn't do a thing about it!

Suddenly, before Hot Rod's opticals, he watched a rainbow of plasma strike the large purple Decepticon and knock him clear through the wall. Hot Shot had onlined his optics to turn and see a large 'bot run and ram the one standing over his older brother right off him and into the ground. His opticals brightened recognizing the familiar red, blue, and silver 'bot.

"Optimus Prime!" he squealed in happiness, he knew he was right in liking that mech.

"Optimus?" Hot Rod muttered before turning to see it indeed was the Prime his brother had squealed at and he was right now busy smashing two Decepticon exoskulls together.

Hot Shot got up and ran to his brother's side, but ever kept his admiring optics on the brave warrior who saved them. Hot Rod looked at his brother and then followed his optical gaze to the large Autobot commander who had just finished smashing the last remainder Decepticon into the broken ground.

"Optimus Prime? !" the purple one gasped as he got up.

"Shockwave," Optimus narrowed his optics at the Decepticon who had recovered from the blast, but sustained damage to his exterior. "Tell your master that you'll never get the data, nor this sparkling! Because Optimus Prime himself will be guarding him!"

Hot Rod was confused as to how the two knew each other, but continued to look back from the Autobot to the Decepticon. He watched as the one known as Shockwave sneered before turning and limping off.

"You saved us!" Hot Shot squealed, the overly happy smile never leaving his lips.

"I'm so glad I found you in time," Optimus sighed a large sigh of relief as he knelt down to the two boys and checked to see if any were seriously injured. "You did good in trying to protect your brother Hot Rod."

"Hmph, I'm his brother—it's what I do," Hot Rod sat up and looked away from the benevolent commander, he still didn't like him—saving him and his brother or not.

"How did you find us Optimus?" Hot Shot asked, leaning closer to the being beside them.

"Your friend, Tracks I believe was his name, told me where to find you," Optimus said.

"Tracks? Why'd he talk to you? !" Hot Rod turned to Optimus and sneered at him so distrustfully.

"Because he heard of the danger you two were in and wanted to protect you," Optimus replied.

"Where is Tracks, Optimus?" Hot Shot, still beaming, asked.

Suddenly, Optimus' mood darkened. He let out a heavy sigh and sat down more fully, leaning against a wall for support.

"There's something you boys are going to need to know," Optimus said, the sound in his voice sounded grim and the two wondered what it was.

* * *

"So these are the boys you were speaking about Optimus Prime," the High Council said as they stared at the two orphans. "And the young one—are you positive that the data has been transferred to him?"

"The scientists confirmed it when he had his checkup," Optimus replied, standing behind the two young ones as close as possible.

"Then you'd best get the data transferred out of him," they said with a sigh, waving him off. "These orphans came from sector 11?"

"Yes sirs they did," Optimus nodded.

"Quite ragged and filthy don't you say?" they spoke amongst the other, but their whispers were heard to receiving audios. "How many orphans did they find there again? Well over 100 is what I heard."

After they finished whispering amongst themselves they looked back onto the three 'bots in their presence and leant back in their seating.

"May I ask something of you, Council?" Optimus spoke up, opting their attention.

"Yes, what may it be Optimus Prime?" they asked.

"I promised these boys I'd protect them until the data is out of the little one," Optimus explained. "Permission to do so."

"Taking care of sparklings Prime?" they asked with smiles. "You are a busy 'bot, is it something you are able to do?"

"I can balance their care with my work," Optimus nodded.

"And so after the data is extracted from the youngling you will place them in the program?" they asked.

"I will," Optimus nodded. "That way the program can find them a good family to upgrade with."

"Alright," they agreed with nods but then their optics were upon the older of the brothers and asked, "How old is the older one Prime?"

"13 millennia, sirs," Optimus answered.

"He's old enough to enter the academy, make sure he does," and with that their final commands were spoken.

Optimus sighed heavily as he looked down at the young teen. He saw his arms tighten in their crossed form and his shoulders tense, he didn't want this—to be forced into something such as military schooling. Optimus didn't like it as much as he didn't . . . but there was nothing he could do.

"Hhh, come on young ones—I'll take you to my home," Optimus said as he turned and waited for them to follow.

"You have a real home? !" Hot Shot's optics shined so bright one would mistake them for real stars.

"Heh, heh, of course," Optimus chuckled but remembered that they hadn't been living in decent homes for years—so he shouldn't laugh. "You'll both like it there, I promise."

"Okay!' Hot Shot cheered still truly unaware of what all has taken place and what is about to take place.

Hot Rod walked a little behind the two, seeming to sulk for quite a bit. He kept quiet ever since Optimus had rescued them and told them of the 'orphan sweep' they were doing in the sector. He hated the way the Autobots were doing things—nothing but political 'bots trying to make themselves look good for suddenly caring for the forgotten.

Hot Rod's optics brightened upon seeing Hot Shot hop up to Optimus' side and wiggle his tiny hand in the large grasp of the Prime . . . like some child would their father-creator. This burnt Hot Rod bad and his anger was kindled. He remembered when Hot Shot was just learning to walk up right . . . how he'd hold onto their father-creator tightly—just like he was this Optimus character.

_He's already replaced our father-creator . . . hasn't he?_ Hot Rod thought to himself as he watched on his little brother skip in the hand of the Autobot commander.

It wasn't long before they reached Optimus' home and ever Hot Shot beamed with how large it was. Hot Rod only sneered saying the reason it was large was because Optimus was a Prime and the leader of the Autobots—that was until Optimus explained that this home had been in his family for a long time.

"Alright you two it's time to get you cleaned and polished—oh, Hot Rod, your upgrades are in your appointed room. It looks as if you hadn't had a good upgrade in a good millennia. The academy requires you to be up-to-date anyways—so—just thought I'd tell you," Optimus spoke to the teen cautiously and patiently, he knew he didn't like him and so let the boy be a boy until he finally accepted what was going on around him.

Optimus then turned to the little one of the group and said—

"Come on Hot Shot, let's head to the wash."

"What's a wash?" he asked as Optimus grabbed his tiny hand and led him down the hall.

"You'll see," Optimus smiled fondly at the child—even with that faceplate you could tell.

Hot Rod speculated if it was a good idea to let his brother be alone with that guy. Hot Rod shrugged knowing that if Optimus ever hurt his brother it would put a bad name on his reputation and any Autobot leader would hate that.

"All politics," Hot Rod muttered to himself as he made his way down another hall filled with rooms.

It was strange—how a 'bot lived in a mansion with so many rooms when there was just him alone. He did say this was once his family home and so perhaps he had siblings or cousins that used to live here—perhaps they all died off during the war . . . many things had so why not family right?

With a sigh Hot Rod found his designated room and inside he found a single berth, a desk, closet . . . and his upgrades. He walked up to the plating and found the color matched his own, red and orange . . . even with all this gunk on him from millenniums of neglect that old mech could still tell his colors. Hot rod snickered before laying on his berth and staring up at the ceiling wondering if this was even a good thing . . . what's happened to him at least.

Being taken in by the leader of the Autobots . . . a Prime. That was supposed to be an honor right? So . . . why didn't it feel like one? And what about his friends? ! Where were they? Were they okay? Did they get sent off to the academy as well? . . . well . . . he'd know soon enough right?

Hot Rod turned on his side and stared into the blank darkness—this darkness was much different than the one in sector 11 of Tyger Pax, much different.

"I hate it here," Hot Rod said to himself, baring his teeth and rage. "Why couldn't they just leave us alone? !"

He just wanted his and Hot Shot's lives back to normal—it didn't have to be the one where they were living in the slums of Tyger Pax either, but they had a family, they had a father-creator, a mother-creator once. They didn't need a new one . . . they didn't need replacements.

Now look at Hot Rod . . . he was being sent off to the Autobot Academy to one day go into the army and offline or be offlined. No, that wasn't going to happen, he couldn't be offlined, not with Hot Shot to protect. He'd use this, use this to become the strongest warrior to protect his brother—that way—Optimus wouldn't have to anymore.

"I'll be the one to protect you Shoty . . . not _him_," Hot Rod swore as he sat up and made this secret oath. "I swear I will."


	3. New Home, New School, New Life

**Hot Shot's girl: Here's chp 3, hope you enjoy! :D Leave a review and tell me what you think, I love your guys' input and if you have a great idea about this story feel free to share. I love your ideas! XD **

Hot Rod exited his room to find Optimus running by looking quite frantic and . . . a good portion of his abdomen was polished and shinning. It looked a little strange, Hot Rod had to admit, but he wasn't going to ask why—though the look on his face was question enough.

"Have you seen your brother around?" Optimus asked, but continually looking around for the little sparkling.

"Wash go wrong?" Hot Rod asked sarcastically.

"Oh no," Optimus shook his head. "It went perfectly fine, but once I began to polish and wax him he suddenly grabbed the polisher and took off with it—of course getting me some in the process."

"Hot Shot's a good hider—good luck," Hot Rod waved, walking past Optimus towards the door—no doubt there'd be a carrier come to pick him up.

Before he exited the front entrance he stopped and said—

"I don't know why you bother trying to take care of us. Before you came along me and Hot Shot were doing just fine. You're in way over your head Prime . . ."

Hot Rod then turned to stare darkly at the commander.

"And I'll make sure your life is the equality of a sundering black hole."

With that threat he turned and headed out. Optimus sighed; that one was going to be a handful—he'd just plain out said it himself.

"Ha, ha!" came a giggle as Optimus was shot out of his thoughts due to the feel of something rubbing against his backside plating.

"Hey," Optimus turned around and grabbed a hold of the escapee, taking the object out of the little one's hands. "That's enough polishing from you."

The little one only squirmed in his grasp and Optimus couldn't help but laugh all the way back to the washroom. At least one sibling was willing to try and let him take care of him.

* * *

"Tracks! Jazz! Blaster!" Hot Rod smiled so large it was a little strange for him, but he didn't care—they were his friends and he found them again.

"Hot Rod!" they all smiled just as large as they embraced in a momentarily group hug.

"Well I'll be an icthiak's uncle!" Jazz chuckled. "They caught you too."

"I was the first to go," Tracks raised his hand in shame. "Sorry fellas."

"What about you two?" Hot Rod asked, looking at jazz and Blaster. "You two went looking for Tracks right?"

"Yeah, but wound up getting jumped by some femme," Blaster muttered, it wasn't a pretty memory.

"Tell me about it, was she crazy or what!" Jazz exclaimed.

"Wait, the blue femme got you two too?" Tracks asked, pointing to Jazz and Blaster.

"Yeah," they both admitted, embarrassment written all over their features at getting captured by some femme.

"She must have had special training or something 'cause she nearly took my arm out of its rotator cuff," Tracks said, turning and showing the damage.

"What about you Rods?" Blaster asked turning to Hot Rod. "Who napped you?"

"Prime," Hot Rod groaned, crossing his arms.

"Ewh, sorry man," Blaster sighed. "Well—at least we're together again, for better or worse."

"Where's little Hot Shot?" Jazz asked. "They didn't take him away from you did they? I heard some were separated from their siblings due to age differences—like you being old enough to be a cadet in the academy."

"Not really," Hot Rod said, his facial features still showing annoyance as clear as the nearest star to Cybertron. "Prime took me and my brother home and claimed he'd be taking care of us until something goes on with Hot Shot, something about data."

"I see, but you realize that—after that . . . they're going to separate you," Tracks spoke up, this time all watching Hot Rod's features turn to that of annoyance to fear.

"What do you mean?" Hot Rod asked.

"Well . . . we'll be living in the dorms," Tracks said. "It's highly unlikely that anyone will want to adopt such older children so we'll probably upgrade in this academy—while the little ones who are too young to attend at the moment are put on a list for creators wanting to adopt."

Hot Rod had never thought about this. He remembered Optimus personally asking to take them in, but then agreeing to hand them over to the program so it could find homes for the two . . . never did he say for Hot Shot instead of him where he'd stay at the academy as a fulltime occupant.

Hot Rod bared his teeth, clenching together tightly. His friends saw his anger fuming and knew it was best to keep his good side for now.

"Uh, they didn't mean it Rods," Blaster spoke up, trying to cool him down. "I'm sure whenever you and Hot Shot are placed in the program they'll try to find families wanting you both."

Hot Rod cast his optics down. He highly doubted it. What Tracks said was right . . . around this age most Transformers would go to academies and spend whatever millenniums it took for them to graduate and enter the army. His life with his brother will be over once the matter with Hot Shot is over.

"Oh . . . here comes the teacher!" Blaster warned, making everyone's attention turn to the 'bot who entered the room and now stood before the new recruits.

"So . . . you are the orphans dragged from sector 11 of Tyger Pax," the red 'bot said with a smirk, placing his fists on his dark hips as he poked his chest outwards. "I heard a lot about you from my darling sparkmate, which I'm sure many of you know."

Just at the mere mention of her most got the picture and groaned at the thought of the one who roughly took them from their home's sparkmate teaching them. It was just too much.

"The name's Ironhide and I'll be your teacher from here on out. Now I don't want any lip from you newbies, I already have enough brats as it is, not including you, so if you behave around me I'll behave around you. Got it?"

"Who does this guy think he is?" Jazz asked, scratching the side of his face.

"I'll be keeping track of each one of you," Ironhide began to pace around this time with his hands clasped together behind his back. "Even if you're not staying in dorms here and have someone watching over you," At that he seemed to gaze at Hot Rod, which made him a little uneasy as to how he knew who to look at. "I'm gonna be the one you go to when you have a quarrel, a disagreement, an oil leak, pit you'll have to come to me for everything 'cause that's the rules set out by me! You're stuck with me kids—so better get used to it."

At that he turned and left to let all he said sink into the new recruits. He always loved the newbies—they were the easiest to scare and usually the best warriors came out of the newbies so he was going to see what diamonds he could find in this lot of ruffians.

"Why do I feel like we're going to be offlined before we even see our next birthed day?" Blaster chuckled nervously.

"It's probably because we are," Jazz said, bowing his head in prayer, praying Primus take his innocent spark when he offlines in his recharge tonight.

Hot Rod looked around and realized that what the teacher had observed was true; these were the older orphans back home. He knew some of these faces and some he hadn't seen before. Many looked to still be frightened about everything that had happened—they had a right to be, everything happened so fast that it was hard to think, but one had to adapt right?

_I can adapt, but no one ever said I had to like it_, Hot Rod thought to himself as his remembrance of his threat popped back into his main processor.

Oh he was going to enjoy making that Optimus pay for ruining their quiet lives—for him, his brother, and his friends. Each and every orphan that wanted to be left alone will be avenged by Hot Rod.

This he'd swear.

* * *

"No, no!" Hot Shot cried, shaking his head furiously.

He didn't want to go, not yet, and besides—he didn't like that place, it was too white for him that it hurt his opticals.

"Hot Shot, it's time for your other checkup," Optimus said, his hold on the boy's arm still there, but gentle enough not to hurt him as he tried to escape. "We need to go."

"Not without Rody!" Hot Shot cried, the look in his optics was very serious—he wasn't going to conform until his brother was there with him.

"Hhh, Hot Shot your brother is at the academy now. He won't be returning until night falls," Optimus tried to explain to the young sparkling who looked as if he was about to cry.

"But I want hi-him!" at this point, the sparkling began to cry, sure his struggling had stopped but now his free hand had come to rub at his optics that now began to pop circuits, letting small droplets of energon leak out. "Aaahhaaa!"

_I understand_, Optimus inwardly sighed. _He hasn't gone anywhere without his brother in a long time, it's hard for him._

"Hhh, Hot Shot," Optimus sighed as he sat down next to the little one and waited for him to stop crying.

Placing his hand on the little one's back he slowly rubbed and soothed him. He didn't know how he was possibly going to get him out to the science division but he had to figure out something. Optimus looked around the living room for anything he could use to lure the boy out—no; he shouldn't do that, that was plain evil . . . but he did use that energon goody to get him out of the hole back when he first met him so . . . no! Things were different now; he was going to be gentle and patient with him . . . with both him and his brother.

"Primus what did I get myself into?" Optimus sighed, continuing his ministrations on the little one to get him as calm as possible.

* * *

"It's well past the appointed meeting hour Optimus Prime," a red and white 'bot responded with a sigh, looking at the Autobot commander holding a young sparkling with his mouth full of energon goodies.

"I am sorry Ratchet," Optimus about panted, he had zoomed by as fast as he could once Hot Shot complied to come with him. "But Hot Shot here—"

"Ah, I don't want to know," Ratchet held up his hand to stop the excuse—he's had enough of those throughout his lifetime and just didn't want to hear anymore. "Just bring the sparkling this way."

At that Ratchet turned and led the commander and sparkling down hall B. Seriously, he had been called down to the science department to examine a youngling that would only take a sum of 10 minutes, but no, he was stuck waiting here for a good 5 hours until the patient showed up. He had better things to do than wait on patients, but the High Council made it specific that whatever involved the youngling was of great importance so if he had to be stuck waiting for centuries than that's what he'd do.

"In here please," Ratchet signaled for Optimus to enter the room with the sparkling. "And sit the young one there."

"Stay here Hot Shot," Optimus held up his index finger to the little one's nose to make him pay attention.

Hot Shot only mumbled as he finished eating the last of his numerous energon goodies. Optimus sighed and then turned to take a seat near the examination table he placed the sparkling on.

"Alright, the first thing I'm going to check is his—" Ratchet suddenly froze as he turned to see the sparkling who had a mouth full of unhealthy energon goodies. "Optimus . . ."

"Yes, what is it?" Optimus tried to look completely innocent, but he wasn't a sparkling anymore so he couldn't fool anymore.

"Just how many energon goodies did you give him?" Ratchet asked, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

"Oh, just five," Optimus tried to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal, but who was he kidding? He was talking to a medical officer—a _Chief_ Medical Officer.

Ratchet gave Optimus the look and he knew he'd be caught. Optimus groaned with a roll of his optics before waving his arms around saying—

"I had to give him something! He wasn't moving! How else was I supposed to get him here?"

"They are unhealthy Optimus," Ratchet muttered as he turned and opened the sparkling's mouth to clean out what he didn't swallow, hopefully he could save his pipes from getting anymore clogged up with those disgusting things than they already were. "I swear—no one follows the health code anymore!"

Hot Shot pouted at the loss of his favorite treat and gagged at the gunk the doctor wanted him to drink down to flush the goodies out of his system. Ratchet was now busy setting out his tools in the order he was to use them during the checkup. Optimus only silently sat there and watched the medical chief examine the boy.

"Hhh, he's needs more nourishment," Ratchet informed, glancing back at Optimus, making sure he'd log that into his data banks. "Living in the slums of Tyger Pax has done its toll, but I've seen worse."

Continuing examining the little one Ratchet took a medical tool and tapped at his rotators to make sure they were working perfectly.

"Uh, the other doctors checked up on his joints last time I took him to a checkup," Optimus pointed out.

Ratchet only glared at Optimus slightly with optics saying 'you think they're the number one doctors of Cybertron?' Optimus quickly learned to keep his thoughts to himself and wait on the expert doctor. Ratchet held Hot Shot's knee rotator in his hand and seemed to balance it for something.

"Hm, it needs more oil," He said after placing it down and coming to his elbow rotators.

_Ratchet seems like he's always the bearer of bad news these days,_ Optimus inwardly sighed to himself as he continued to watch the displeased look on the doctor's face. _Heh, I feel like a parent getting scolded for not properly taking care of their sparkling._

Ratchet then came to make Hot Shot bow his head so he could look at his mainframe. He opened the back of the boy's head and gazed at it. After a while of checking if each chip, circuit, and byte was in tack he closed it and then said—

"His mainframe is maturing well and in good condition—so are his new upgrades."

_Well there's some compliments_," Optimus noticed, at least picking out the youngling's upgrades was good.

Again everything was silent as Ratchet moved on to his next examination tool. Optimus sighed once more as he continued to watch the doctor work—he never was one to like silence so he had to at least strike up a conversation—but which one?

"So . . . how are the sparklings doing?" Optimus asked with a small clap of his hands.

"Heh, they're not sparklings anymore Prime," Ratchet only chuckled lightly as he continued his examination, not breaking any concentration at all.

"That's right," Optimus remembered with a fond smile. "They upgrade quickly don't they?"

"Sure do," Ratchet sounded as if he really didn't care for the topic—when in all sense he probably didn't.

"How are they . . . how are they doing without Wheeljack?" Optimus didn't mean to put it like this, but it just happened to come out that way.

"They're getting better," Ratchet replied, surprising Optimus a bit that he continued to talk about this. "Though . . . they still miss him."

"I'm sorry that he had to meet his end not too long ago," Optimus sighed out sadly at the remembrance of losing another close friend before Preceptor.

"I am too," Ratchet let out a sad sigh, leaning up and this time scanning the sparkling over—his examination seeming to slow slightly. "They were closest to him so it was hard on them when they heard the news."

"They were close weren't they?" Optimus smiled fondly, remembering how wherever Wheeljack would go, so would his five little ones. "Still though, they haven't been causing too much trouble have they?"

"Not too much," Ratchet replied, now scanning over Hot Shot's optics to see if he was in need of a visor.

"I heard they're going to the academy—are they doing well?" Optimus asked.

"In their fighting classes, excellent—but not their studies," Ratchet said with a slight smile. "You'd think that being the sparklings of geniuses at least one would inherit our motherboards . . . hhh, but not a single one did."

"Well, maybe the next generation will fix that problem," Optimus chuckled knowing it was only a fools dream.

"Next generation? ! Optimus, sir, I highly doubt I'll receive any grandsparklings from either one of my slaghead sons," Ratchet said, turning to look at Optimus like he was the crazy one.

"You never know," Optimus chuckled, in turn making Ratchet do the same as he went back to finishing up on Hot Shot's checkup.

"Well," Ratchet sighed, placing his fists on his hips in sign he was finished. "He seems fine, the extra data transferred to him hasn't messed with his other functions at all. Preceptor did good in making sure this sparkling remained normal when he hid the data inside him. All he needs now is proper refueling, more oil on his rotators and, oh, a visor."

"A visor? ! What for?" Optimus asked, his opticals brightening.

"His optical sensors aren't too well. After living in an environment like the slums of Tyger Pax it took it's toll on him. A lot of sludge and other greases have gotten into his optical systems, short-circuited some of the wires. I'll need to clean it out, but a visor would do him best for the permanent damage he, no doubtingly, received," Ratchet said, smacking Hot Shot's hand away from attempting to rub his optics. "Don't do that."

"Hhh, alright," Optimus sighed, standing up and walking over to take Hot Shot back in his arms. "Thank-you for your input doctor."

"Like I had a choice," Ratchet scoffed before straightening his strained spinal platings from bending down to the young and small sparkling. "A lot of scientists offlined for that data he unknowingly holds—make sure their extinguished sparks don't go in vain," Ratchet looked deathly serious now, gazing at the young one who was clinging onto Optimus' arm and giggling as the large commander picked him up.

"I'll be sure of it," Optimus nodded. "Many of those scientists were a good friend of mine, and yours."

"I just don't want it to turn out like the last project all those millenniums ago. Many a scientist offlined for that as well—and we ended up losing the data to the other side," Ratchet said, his mood darkening as he spoke about their last failure.

"You mean the project about creating an eternal spark?" Optimus asked, he too remembered the day the Decepticons had stolen the data from them and used it for their own purposes. "Aye, I remember that as well. Again, that was supposed to be the project to end this war."

"Yes," Ratchet nodded. "From what I heard from our spies was that the Decepticons had successfully created one."

"Yes, but still," Optimus looked down at the little sparkling who looked up at him with bright optics. "That 'project' of theirs is still just a youngling, probably around the same age as Hot Rod, if not a little younger. But I heard there were three of them."

"No," Ratchet shook his head. "Triplets were birthed because of the project, but only one of them succeeded in receiving the eternal spark."

"Ah, I see," Optimus nodded before sighing. "They're probably going to turn him into a dangerous warrior for their own game—aren't they."

"Every sparkling birthed to them is one Optimus," Ratchet explained softly. "It's just the Decepticon way."

"I know," Optimus nodded. "But . . . when we went to sector 11 of Tyger Pax and I saw all those neglected sparklings . . . I couldn't held but feel as if we were no different."

"This war makes many turn a blind optical to many sectors—especially small ones such as that sector," Ratchet spoke. "We Autobots can't be Primus . . . remember that Optimus."

"I know that," Optimus nodded before smiling softly at the doctor. "Thank-you again for coming all the way out here for his checkup, I appreciate it."

At that Optimus turned and left to take Hot Shot over to the scientists who wished to see him after his medical exam. Ratchet only called out saying—

"Uh, after you're done with the scientists make sure you come back so I can fit him a visor!"

"I will," Optimus turned and waved at the doctor before vanishing down a hall.

"Hhh, that Prime," Ratchet shook his head before he turned and went to gather up his medical tools. "I'm a war doctor—how'd I get stuck being a pediatrician?"

* * *

"Well, that data's encoded good it looks like," a large jet 'bot said as he looked at the statistics he and his teams scanned over. "Preceptor made sure that if this data got into the Decepticon's hands it'd be the pits just trying to decode it."

"So what are you saying Skyfire?" Optimus asked, looking up at the head of the science division.

"What I'm saying Prime, is that it'll probably take centuries to decode these," Skyfire said, pointing right at the young sparkling's head. "We'll only be able to process a little after a little so you'll have to be watching him for a while."

"I see," Optimus said, turning his gaze to where Hot Shot was sitting on a desk, kicking his small legs while the other scientists attached and detached wires from his motherboard. "Well—I don't mind watching him for a little while longer, but I don't know what his brother will say."

"I heard you took in two sparklings," Skyfire gave off a smile as he watched the Autobot Commander smile fondly at the youngling. "How's the older one?"

"He wants to make my life equal to that of a sundering black hole," Optimus said, gazing up at his old friend.

"Is that so," Skyfire nodded.

"He said it himself . . . in a _very_ threatening way," Optimus sighed wondering how he was going to deal with that juvenile.

"How old is he?" Skyfire asked.

"13 millennia," Optimus sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"That age huh," Skyfire said. "I have five boys of my own, they've come to reach that age as well. They've been giving me slag too, don't worry—it's a teenage thing."

"I don't really remember being like that though, at that age," Optimus pondered his youth and couldn't remember being that . . . rebellious.

"It's a new age Prime," Skyfire nodded, simultaneously processing data on the known situation of the project. "Things change, but he'll eventually get over it. Just be glad you won't have to live with two."

"Why do you say that?" Optimus asked.

"It'll only take a few centuries to take all that data out of the little one, not millenniums, so you won't have to be watching him when he reaches that age," Skyfire said as he moved to see what his team had processed.

Optimus hadn't really thought about the time when he'd give up the brothers to the adoption program. He just . . . hadn't thought that far really, strange huh? When he was supposed to always be one step ahead of everything. It just hadn't dawned on him yet that . . . he was going to have to say goodbye to them.

_Hhh, Skyfire's right—I'll never see that age in him_, Optimus inwardly sighed as he looked at the little one who was being congratulated on being such a good sport about everything and behaving well.

Optimus didn't know why, but ever since he first met the little sparkling he shared a connection with him he couldn't explain. Like he was somehow a part of his family, or should be. It was the same way with the little one's brother—even though he was bent on giving him a hard time . . . Optimus just . . . wanted to care for the two.

"Alright little mech, all done," Skyfire smiled as he pulled the last wire out of the boy's mainframe.

"I can go home now?" Hot Shot asked, his optics beaming.

"Not until we pay Ratchet another visit," Optimus cut in, walking up to the little one.

"Awww," Hot Shot crossed his arms and pouted—he didn't like doctors and he never would . . . scientists were much cooler!

"Ha, ha, he's going to be a handful Prime, I'm gonna warn you," Skyfire chuckled with a nudge towards Optimus. "But you've always liked sparklings so you should be fine."

"Hm, thanks for the advice old friend," Optimus smiled as he turned and took up Hot Shot to head back to Ratchet who was probably getting sick of waiting.

* * *

"Ugh, man do they always run the new recruits this hard?" Tracks groaned as he and his friends slugged out of the training grounds, totally depleted of energy.

"You're telling me," Jazz groaned, trying to straighten his back and feeling many a metal and wire pop back in place. "That's killer."

"I can't even feel my legs because that teacher ran me so hard," Blaster groaned, looking down at his wobbly legs that looked about ready to collapse.

"Who does that teacher think he is anyways? The king? ! I've never been driven so hard in my life. I don't have enough energy supplies for this!" Hot rod groaned, holding his aching back.

"Oh, but just you wait," Jazz grinned, holding up his index finger. "He said tomorrow he was going to let us meet the rest of our class—you know, the richies who still have creators and places to stay other than the dorms."

"Joy," Blaster groaned, managing to find a nearby bench and crash a little.

"They weren't kidding when they said they were going to shape us into warriors," Tracks moaned. "I thought it was metaphorically, but they meant _literally_!"

"No kidding," Hot Rod chuckled slightly at how underused his body was.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be catching the carrier home?" Tracks asked, looking at Hot Rod.

"You're right," Hot Rod sighed. "Though, I really don't want to go back to that jerk. If I had any say I've live here with you guys and Hot Shot would stay in my dorm."

"S'too bad they don't allow that," Jazz said. "See you tomorrow Rods."

"'Kay, bye guys," Hot Rod sighed as he reluctantly left his aching friends to return to a fake and temporarily home.

Riding the carrier home was a quiet ride. All he really did was look out at the town he was now living and couldn't help but think what a big change had been brought. He went from the slums of Tyger Pax to the higher-class mansions of Autobot city in Iacon. Who would have thought right?

Even when his creators were alive and they hadn't lived in the slums—they still never lived in such a high-class society like this. They were just normal compared to all this, but to him . . . there was nothing wrong with normal.

Hot Rod opened the front door and entered the Prime home to find all the lights on. He blinked in confusion before shutting the door and looking around. It wasn't long before he watched Optimus come out of the living room and into the foyer. He just about looked beat as he came up and turned the light off.

"Oh, Hot Rod, you're home late," Optimus turned to the noticed teen.

"Ironhide drilled the newcomers pretty good," Hot Rod crossed his arms, the look on his face signaled to Optimus that he wasn't up talking to _him_. "Friend of yours?"

"Oh yes, Ironhide and I go back for eons," Optimus said with a weary smile. "But—would you mind helping me turn off all unnecessary lights? Hot Shot has gone around through the whole place turning every single light on."

"No," Hot Rod simply replied as he turned and headed to his room.

Optimus had to say he expected this, but he just thought he'd ask. With a shrug of his shoulders he continued his duty to wander throughout the Prime mansion, turning off all lights the little one had, completely unaware of the sparkling following him carefully and turning on the ones he continued to turn off.

Hot Rod could care less. He was glad Hot Shot was wearing that old fool down. It was his own fault for thinking he could care for them.

After entering his room he turned on the light and came to plop on his berth when he noticed someone else in it.

"Turn off the light, turn off the light!" his little brother said, poking his head out of Hot Rod's berth and motioning to his brother to turn the light off.

Hot Rod didn't ask any questions, he just did as his little brother wanted. With a flick of his fingers the lights where off and he came to sit on his berth, Hot Shot making room of course.

"What's with all this Shoty?" Hot Rod asked, illuminating his optics more to see where his brother was.

"I'm playing hide and go seek," Hot Shot giggled.

A closer look at his brother though and Hot Rod instantly noticed the change. His optics brightened and wondered why on Cybertron Hot Shot had it.

"Hot Shot . . . is that a visor?" Hot Rod pointed, coming to poke the black visor that rested on top the sparkling's head.

"Huh? Oh yeah," Hot Shot glanced up and reached his tiny hands towards it to feel it only to make it fall over his face. "Ugh! It always slips! It's too big!"

"The doctor say you needed that?" Hot Rod asked, trying to hold back his fits of laughter—Hot Shot looked ridiculous with that thing on.

"Yeah," Hot Shot pouted and then gazed up at his brother. "I don't like it though, he gave me one too big."

"Don't worry . . . you'll upgrade into it," Hot Rod couldn't hold back his laughter for long.

"Uh! You think it's silly too! Don't laugh at it!" Hot Shot whined and his whine was all it took for his brother to burst.

"Ah ha! That's hilarious! I'd never have thought my little brother would need a visor! Ha, ha!" Hot Rod kicked his legs against his berth and held his aching abdomen.

"Stop laughing!" Hot Shot pouted, standing up on the berth and stomping his foot. "It's not funny!"

"Sorry, sorry," Hot Rod gasped out as his laughter took him to roll over on his berth, his functions were jamming up by the nanosecond, he couldn't even think properly.

"Stop laughing!" Hot Shot continued to whine as he hopped on his brother who continued to roll.

"Still though," Hot Rod managed to calm down and properly look at the visor. "You'll upgrade into it and look fine."

"Really?" Hot Shot asked, his blue optics shinning brightly at his brother.

"Sure," Hot Rod said and then looked as if he was in thought. "Though you're going to have to get used to 'bots calling you visor mainframe."

"That's mean!" Hot Shot whined, smacking his brother and pushing him. "Meany!"

Hot Rod continued to laugh though; at least they could still laugh and play as brothers for now. The playing halted once a few soft knocks were heard on the door.

"Boys? Are you in there?" Optimus asked as he opened the door to find the two sitting on the berth. "Oh, there you are Hot Shot."

"It's rude to enter someone's room without permission," Hot Rod 'hmphed' turning his face away and crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry Hot Rod, but I was wondering if you were in need of a refuel. You got back from the academy after all so I'm sure you're drained," Optimus said.

"I am drained, but I think I'll just recharge!" He said, his tone scornful as he turned to lay down in his berth. "Now go away!"

Optimus wished Hot Rod was a little nicer towards him, but he couldn't force to be so . . . however he wanted to treat him was his choice. Optimus nodded softly before looking at Hot Shot and saying—

"Hot Shot, your brother needs to recharge so we'll let him be," Optimus said, waiting by Hot Rod's door for Hot Shot to come to him.

Hot Shot looked down at his brother who had his back turned from him and Optimus and then towards the Prime. He didn't know why his brother was acting like this, but if he wanted to be left alone then he'll leave him alone. With a nod Hot Shot crawled off the berth and headed over to Optimus, took his hand and was led out of the room.

"Recharge well Hot Rod," Optimus said as he closed the door, respecting the boy's wishes to be left alone.

"Is the academy that hard?" Hot Shot asked, his protoform blue optics staring up at Optimus.

"Hm?" Optimus looked down at the little one who looked concerned for his older brother. "Oh, yes it is. It was his first day after all, but don't worry, he'll get better."

"Okay," Hot Shot nodded with a smile, glad to know his brother was going to get better.

"Now come on, it's time for your recharging as well," Optimus said, leading Hot Shot to his room.

"Awww," the little one complained. "But I'm not, yawn, drained."

"Hm, hm, sure you aren't," Optimus chuckled as he took the little one up in his arms and brought him to his own berth.


	4. Second Day Of School

**Hot Shot's girl: Sorry I didn't update sooner, sibs wouldn't get off and the com was running granny slow! lol, well here's the next chp, hope you enjoy and oh . . . I put this as Unicron Trilogy 'cause I dunno, I like it so just imagine Armada Optimus and Hot Shot and the other G1 characters as Armada-style, lol. If you guys were wondering :) Enjoy!**

"Did we have to walk to the academy?" Hot Rod groaned, he knew Ironhide was going to make them run and drive laps around the training room, not to mention the transformation-ups they'd have to do!

"I wanted you and Hot Shot to see the places you live in now," Optimus smiled softly as he glanced up at the smiling yellow sparkling who was sitting on his shoulders, happily looking around.

"Wooow," Hot Shot admired the city. "This place is so bright and clean! It's way different than our old home! Right Rody!"

"Sure," Hot Rod groaned, slugging his shoulders forward and narrowing his optics—he was going to be worn out today due to this.

"Here we are," Optimus smiled, stopping right at the gates of the academy.

"Woooow! It's huge!" Hot Shot chirped. "This is where you go Rody?"

"Yep," Hot Rod sighed out once more.

"It's really, really big!" Hot Shot exclaimed with his arms as he spread them apart as wide as he could, almost falling backwards off Optimus in the process.

"Whoa there," Optimus warned, keeping his balance and hold on the little one.

Hot Shot only giggled though and wondered if Optimus would move around again if he leant backwards. Optimus looked at Hot Rod and saw the annoyed look on his face.

"You have everything Hot Rod?" he asked.

"What else could I have?" Hot Rod groaned, giving Optimus an annoyed glare. "I haven't had any other class but Ironhide's yet so it's just 'bring yourself' to get the energon drained out of you."

"Alright, but today you should be meeting some of your other teachers as well as classmates. Make lots of friends alright," Optimus said, wishing the boy good luck.

"What are you my father-creator?" Hot Rod groaned as he walked past the gate, giving Optimus one last mean glare. "I already have friends—I don't need anymore."

At that he was off and Optimus and Hot Shot only watched as he gathered into the other students who came for their classes today.

"He's not a friendly 'bot is he Hot Shot?" Optimus asked, glancing up at the 'bot who leant against his helmet.

"Sometimes," Hot Shot shrugged his shoulders, but with that shrug came his visor, clamping down over his face.

Hot Shot sat up and groaned, trying to get it to stay up. He hated the thing and because of this he hated the 'bot who gave it to him.

"I hate this thing!" Hot Shot complained.

"You'll upgrade into it," Optimus replied as he turned and headed off.

"Hm, where are we going now?" Hot Shot asked, looking down at the one who carried him on their shoulders.

"To the playing grounds, would you like to meet other ones your age?" Optimus asked, glancing up at the smiling sparkling on his shoulders.

"Uh-huh!" Hot Shot cheered with a nod of his head.

"Alright then, to the playing grounds we go," Optimus gave the sparkling a bounce as he jogged down to the nearest playing grounds.

* * *

"Hey Hot Rod," Tracks smiled as he and the others turned to greet their friend.

"Hey guys," he said with a small smile.

"What'd you do—walk here or something? You look depleted more than usual," Jazz said.

"Actually—I did walk here, thanks to that idiot's brilliant idea of wanting to show me and Hot Shot around town!" Hot Rod said sarcastically but ended in a grunt groan.

"Well, at least you're not as bad as Blaster here," Jazz pointed to the underrecharged 'bot who was about ready to fall over.

"Why didn't he get enough recharge?" Hot Rod asked.

"Oh he got the same amount of recharge we did, but . . . he just needed more is all," Tracks sighed as he crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Will he be able to last the day?" Hot Rod asked. "We have other classes than just combat class."

"I know, " Tracks said.

"Guys, quiet! The you-know-who's coming!" Jazz turned and said to them quietly and sure enough everyone became silent.

"Oh, how nice," Ironhide chuckled at the silence of his new students. "You're all quiet—just for me? Well . . . I've come here to tell you that if you thought yesterday was the pits—wait until today."

"Oh great!" Tracks groaned, tossing his head back at the agony.

"Today," Ironhide started, pacing back and forth in front of his new students just like the day before. "You are going to be running, and racing laps, performing numerous exercises like transformation-ups, crash-downs, revving, and even hands-stands if I feel like it. Yesterday wasn't training, no that was just the qualifying rounds, testings if you want to say—on who was the fastest, slowest, strongest, weakest, smartest, dumbest, etc, etc, and so forth. I must say I'm very disappointed in you newbies . . . not very many of you even scored a descent average. The ones who did though I'll be calling out to come and stand over here—we'll have different training for them than you slagheads."

He then turned to a 'bot who handed him the statistics. Once he looked them over he began calling out names.

"I wonder what 'training' we'll end up getting," Jazz whispered to Hot Rod and Tracks, Blaster wasn't even listening because of the extra needed recharge he was attempting to get. "No doubt we're stuck with the 'losers' due to that mech's harsh examinations."

"For the fastest among you, two tied at first," Ironhide called out. "Jazz and Hot Rod get your afts over here!"

Jazz and Hot Rot looked at each other with slightly brightened optics, well, for Jazz it was a visor but you got the picture. They shrugged and ran over to the teacher to the place he was setting apart the 'winners' from the 'losers'.

"Sir!" they saluted the best they could.

"You call those salutes slagheads? !" Ironhide placed his fists on his hips. "I've seen grandmother-creators with out arms salute better than you! But whatever, you're still new so I'll let your sloppiness slide—for now."

Ironhide turned from them and back to his list of statistics. He looked it over and then proceeded in saying—

"Now I usually have the top five of certain categories come, but since these two here tied I'm gonna have to make due for six, so once your name is called out proceed to where they are! Okay now . . . the one who placed second, very close to first—Tracks!"

Tracks pointed to himself before he shrugged and walked over to where Jazz and Hot Rod stood, both congratulating him in getting in with them.

"Alright Tracks," Hot Rod smiled as he smacked hands with him. "Do you think Blaster will make it in anyone?"

"Who knows," Jazz sighed as all looked at the red 'bot who was still attempting a recharge.

And so the callings went by—each one without Blaster's name being called once. Hot Rod, Tracks, and Jazz sure hoped that Blaster would at least get in the top five of something before they were made to split up.

"What is with all these categories?" Ironhide asked, scratching the side of his helmet. "I don't remember testing them for these—I thought it was just the fastest, strongest, and smartest—stuff like that."

"Well sir, the academy has other professions the younglings could do," his assistant said next to him.

"Okay," Ironhide sighed with a shrug.

And so Ironhide continued naming off categories and calling out names. Each category mentioned the three knew that Blaster wouldn't even be placed in the top 100 of it. It seemed hopeless.

"Think guys, what's Blaster the best at?" Hot Rod asked, turning to his friends.

"Being loud," Tracks chuckled.

"That's not funny Tracks, this is serious. If he doesn't place in any top five we may never see him again!" Hot Rod said.

"Why 'cause the teacher's gonna offline the weak?" Jazz chuckled his way into the conversation.

Hot Rot groaned, his friends weren't helping, but he knew they were concerned just as much as him. As far as any of them knew they hadn't known they were being tested the other day so what exactly had Blaster done that was even better than them?

"Uh, let's see—hey! You remember mechanics? Well Blaster was the last to fail out of all of us!" Jazz stated.

"Jazz . . . we all failed one another the other—each it took a nanosecond and we were offline-last in that category."

"Just tryin' to help," Jazz sighed sadly, bowing his head.

"We know Jazz, we know," Tracks softly smiled as he gently patted Jazz on the shoulder.

"And last but not least—the communications category," Ironhide stated, looking at the finalists.

"We're doomed!" Hot Rod cried. "There's no way Blaster's in the top five!"

"You're right!" Tracks gasped, remembering that category yesterday. "If I remember that was the time when they gave us those crazy messages and told us to decipher them!"

"Yeah, poor Blaster was the first one to quit," Jazz sighed, shaking his head in defeat. "That poor mech."

All three looked at Blaster and sighed. He was still recharging in the middle of the other group who had been dubbed 'unworthy' and would probably be receiving harsher training. That poor, poor mech . . . he'd never get a good recharge now.

"Placing first in the communications division—Blaster!" Ironhide called, surprising his three friends.

"First? !" Jazz whispered to the other two in disbelief. "I thought he failed first!"

"So did I," Hot Rod admitted.

"So wait . . . does that mean?" Tracks wondered.

"Blaster!" Ironhide pointed to the recharging idiot who was even still standing up. "Get your aft over there!"

"Huh, what, what?" Blaster onlined from his recharge and looked around to see what was going on.

"You've been picked, go!" another 'bot next to him said as they nudged him forward.

"Where?" Blaster asked, completely unaware of what to do.

"Over here dumbaft!" Ironhide pointed to the others where they were standing.

"Oh," Blaster noticed his friends waving him to come over. "Hey guys!"

Blaster jogged over to them and yawned before stretching his limbs.

"What'd I miss?" he asked with a yawn.

"Are you kidding? !" Tracks asked. "Ironhide's separating the prodigies from the failures! Each category has a top five and you just placed the highest in communications!"

"How'd that happen? !" Jazz demanded him to tell.

"What communications?" Blaster asked, still confused about everything.

"Look!" Hot Rod wrapped Blaster's head in his arm and tried explaining things more clearly to him. "Yesterday wasn't training at all, but a bunch of tests to find out which category we thrive in! You, by the grace of Primus, somehow managed to make 1st place in the communications category, you know—the time when they gave us those whacked out messages and told us to decipher them—now I swore you for the first one to quit."

"I didn't quit, I was done with it," Blaster said.

"That's what we thought too!" Jazz said.

"No, I mean I already deciphered the messages—it wasn't that hard really. If you listened closely you could hear the message as clear as the nexus star," Blaster replied.

"Since when was he a genius in communications?" Hot Rod asked, letting go of Blaster's head.

"Who knows," Tracks sighed, shaking his head.

"Alright," Ironhide threw the statistic charts behind him. "Since we've separated you, the ones who didn't make the cut will be given harder training than these until we find your expertise—but these younglings won't be getting off freely either—they'll be placed in their specified categories and expected to excel."

"Great," Tracks groaned. "We're still not off the hook."

"Alright, the ones who actually did a decent job—get your afts inside!" Ironhide pointed. "You'll be the first to meet the other students you'll be training with."

"This should be fun," Hot Rod sighed with a roll of his shoulders.

Hot Rod and his friends all looked at each other with determination. They nodded before heading inside the academy—for once not heading to the training grounds. The large door opened and let them inside to reveal a huge gathering of many a student.

"Wow," Jazz gasped. "Are these guys all in our class?"

"I don't know," Hot Rod was also stuck in awe, he had no idea there were so many 'bots coming here.

"Well . . . this academy isn't big for nothing," Blaster commented as he too gazed at all the students.

"So you're the new students we heard so much about," came a tall white and black 'bot. "The name's Prowl, I'm a senior 'bot, and representative of my class, nice to meet you."

"Jazz," Jazz shook the 'bot's hand with a smile.

"Name's Blaster," Blaster smiled and gladly shook the nice 'bot's hand.

"Tracks," Tracks nodded and shook his hand as well.

"Hot Rod," Hot Rod didn't smile, just shook the senior's hand firmly.

"I heard about you," Prowl smiled at the young red and orange 'bot. "Prime took you and your brother in, am I right?"

"Yeah, so," Hot rod sniffed, turning his head away rather rudely.

"Hot Rod," Tracks groaned. "Eh, forgive him—he's been quite distant lately."

"It's understandable," Prowl nodded. "Being taken away from your home is quite hard on a young 'bot. I wouldn't know how it feels since I was birthed and upgraded in Autobot city, but you do have my sympathy."

"Who asked for it?" Hot Rod mumbled just low enough to where no audio picked it up—well—except Blaster's who seemed to have very keen receivers.

Blaster sighed as he looked at Hot Rod . . . if he kept this up he could possibly make enemies with everyone here—that wouldn't be too good for either of them. His gaze quickly turned to the very nice senior who was now chatting with Jazz and Tracks. At least he took Hot Rod's mood well—where they came from—not many would.

"So who's all in our class Prowl?" Jazz asked, wondering if they'd meet any 'bots of their own age.

"You're, what, third millennia?" Prowl asked.

"How many millenniums are there?" Tracks asked.

"10 all together. You usually start at the age of 10 millennia around here and until your 20 millennia, are trained to enter the service," Prowl informed.

"Wait, that means I have to be in this school for—7 more millennia? !" Blaster gasped, how could one have such a long schooling? !

"'Fraid so friend," Prowl chuckled, slapping the red 'bot on the back. "But you'll like it here, I'm sure."

Prowl then looked around, his optics brightened slightly before he smiled and said—

"Excuse me for a moment—Hey you two, stop right there!"

The four 'bots watched as he went off, all wondering if someone had gotten in trouble. It wasn't long before the older 'bot returned with two smaller mechs in hand—looking to be about their age.

"Hot Rod, Jazz, Blaster, Tracks, I'd like you to meet two classmates of yours—Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," Prowl introduced the two who grinned at the new arrivals.

"Hey, why'd you say _his_ name first? I'm the oldest!" complained the golden one known as Sunstreaker.

"What? Just by a nanosecond!" the red one known as Sideswipe fought back.

"Hhh, here we go," Prowl groaned. "And I have 3 more millennia of this."

"I thought you said you're a senior Prowl," Jazz said.

"You're a senior for 3 millenniums and right now I'm only 18 millennia," Prowl responded. "So you're not getting rid of me just yet."

"Aw, I never said I wanted to get rid of you man," Jazz said with a grin.

"Leaving 'brotherly' matters aside," Sideswipe said, motioning with his hands as moving something aside. "So you're the orphans I heard were gathered from Tyger Pax?"

"Yep, that's us," Blaster said with a grin as he pointed to him and his friends.

"So what's it like there?" Sunstreaker asked, cocking his head to the side. "I heard it was war-torn."

"It is," Hot Rod nodded. "But it was still our home."

"I see," Sideswipe nodded, seeing that 'bot still wanted to live there.

"Well!" Sunstreaker suddenly spoke up. "No matter! You live here now. Do you guys like it here better?"

"Eh, we're still getting used to it," Tracks held up his hands in defense for any rational thinking.

"Well, I'm sure you'll like it here," Sunstreaker waved it off. "This place is way better than any war-torn place with nothing but broken buildings."

"Yeah, at least here you don't have to worry about possibly getting caught in an attack," Sideswipe picked up for his brother.

"Yeah, guess so," Jazz chuckled lightly—but still . . . those broken buildings had been their only shelter for a long time, it had been their home for many millenniums.

"So, do you guys live in the dorms here or do you have a family nearby?" Blaster suddenly asked.

"We have family nearby," the twins answered simultaneously.

"My family lives quite a far ways off from the academy so I live in the dorms," Prowl answered.

"OPEN THE HANGER!"

Everyone looked upward at the command. Hot Rod and his friends watched with awe at another thing they hadn't expected. The gathering room for the students' ceiling opened to let in the aerials.

"So it's not just terrain Transformers here, but sky as well," Tracks said.

"Huh, I'd have thought they'd have their own academy," Jazz shrugged.

"This is Autobot Academy," Prowl said with a soft smile as he looked at the newbies. "A school for _all_ kinds of Transformers."

They watched as the students shifted out of the landing grounds to let the aerial students in. Once all were landed it was then the other students came up to meet with them.

"And here I thought there couldn't possibly be anymore Transformers in this room," Blaster said, chucking to himself.

"You want to meet others in your class?" Prowl asked, looking at the four 'bots.

"Why not," Tracks said with a smile.

And so they followed Prowl through the crowd towards the landing docks to where the aerial Transformers were still checking their boosters and landing gear.

"Hey, Silverbolt! I have a few mechs here for you and your brothers to meet!" Prowl called out to a set of five aerial 'bots.

"New recruits?" the one known as Silverbolt asked, walking up to his old friend to see four new faces, all looking to be around the same age as him and his brothers.

"Guys this is Hot Rod, Jazz, Blaster, and Tracks," Prowl introduced the orphans. "And these are the Aerialbots, in age, known as Silverbolt, Skydive, Fireflight, Air Raid, and Slingshot."

"Nice to meet all of you," Jazz said with a nod.

"You as well," Silverbolt said, placing his hands on his hips. "It's good to see others our age. I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

"Are you the orphans who topped Ironhide's exams?" Slingshot stepped forward and asked.

"That'd be us," Tracks said with a smile.

"What'd you guys top in? If I may ask," Skydive asked.

"Me and Hot Rod here tied for first place in the speed category," Jazz said with a smirk as he shot his thumb back at Hot Rod who was remaining strangely quite now.

"I came in a close second," Tracks stepped forward with his fists on his hips and a smirk on his lips.

"I came in fist in communications," Blaster spoke up.

"Really?" Fireflight asked. "I heard that category is extremely hard—even I couldn't decipher a thing!"

"It's not that hard really—you just have to have good audios is all," Blaster shrugged off the accomplishment as nothing much.

"What's going on here?" came an older green Transformer. "New recruits?"

"Ah, Springer—these are the orphans picked up from sector 11 of Tyger Pax," Prowl motioned to the four.

"Hm, they clean up good," Springer said with a chuckle.

Hot Rod sneered at the older 'bot. He didn't like the way he phrased his words.

"You guys in the same class as the aerials here?" Springer asked.

"We are," Jazz nodded.

"Thought as much," Springer said.

"What year are you?" Blaster asked.

"I'm fifth year," Springer answered as he crossed his arms and then turned his head. "Hey Arcee! Come here and meet the newbies!"

The boys' optics brightened upon seeing a slender, slightly older, deep pink femme walk up and look at them with star-like optical sensors.

"Oh, I wasn't expecting seeing them today," she said as she came to stand next to the bulky green Transformer Springer. "I thought teacher Ironhide said that we were going to be seeing them later this week."

"Well, he allowed us to come in here today," Jazz sighed.

"Then you must be the ones who excelled in his exams. Good job," Arcee smiled sweetly and nodded. "What numbers did you rank as and in which categories?"

"Hot Rod and I tied for first place in speed," Jazz said with a proud smile.

"I came in behind them," Tracks nodded.

"I came in first in communications," Blaster said, rubbing the back of his helmet.

"Wow, that's really good," Arcee nodded. "Looks like the orphans do have talent after all."

"What millennia are you Arcee?" Jazz asked.

"I'm in my fourth millennia," she said with a nod. "You mechs look like you're in your—what, third millennia?"

"Actually it's more like first," Blaster said with a chuckle. "But apparently we were placed in third millenniums."

"Well, you'll catch on quickly," she said with a confident smile. "For the first three millenniums there's nothing much but knowing the basics. It should be easy."

"Yeah—but what's knowing the basics?" Hot Rod mumbled out a scoff as he crossed his arms and looked around the room at the different students . . . all looking like they were birthed and upgraded in Autobot city. "Hhh, I'm gonna hate it here."

* * *

"Here we are," Optimus smiled sweetly as he glanced up at the youngling on his shoulders—who was beaming with glee.

"This is playing grounds? !" Hot Shot asked, his opticals all aglow and mouth wide open in astonishment.

"That's right Hot Shot," Optimus said as he picked the sparkling up off his shoulders and placed him down. "Now go on—say hello to the other sparklings."

At first Hot Shot was hesitant as he watched all the little ones run around with giggles and play on the oddly formed equipment, but he got over his hesitation quickly and ran off to the nearest sparkling to play with.

"Thataboy," Optimus sighed out, watching the little one run around and look for a new friend.

Optimus was proud how much Hot Shot was adapting. It was good he was, especially being so young.

"Optimus sir?" came a femme's voice making Optimus' attention turn to the being who stood some yards beside him.

"Hm?" Optimus said as he laid optics on the beige femme. "Electra?"

"Hello sir," she came up to him with a warm smile and a sparkling in arms. "I haven't seen you in a long while."

"I know," he said, turning to her as she walked up to him. "How are the femmes?"

"They're fine," she said with a nod. "Just upgrading as usual."

"Oh—look, you had another sparkling," Optimus now noticed the little one in her arms who was clinging to his mother-creator's neck and staring at Optimus with bright and wide blue optics. "It's a mech I see."

"Yeah," Electra chuckled as she looked down at her little boy. "Finally had one Prime."

"How old is he?" Optimus asked.

"Just turned 3 millennia today," she said with a nod.

"Oh, a big mech I see," Optimus said with a chuckle, though making the young sparkling burry his face into his mother-creator's breast.

"Oh, Bumblebee don't be like that," his mother-creator cooed. "This is a friend and our noble leader whom you'll be following someday."

"Ha, ha, Bumblebee—it's a befitting name for him," Optimus said with a nod as he gazed over the yellow sparkling whom somewhat resembled Hot Shot in a sense. "I'm happy that you and your sparkmate had a son."

"Yeah, he always wanted one and now he has one," she chided. "Now I don't have to get annoyed by how many times he says he can't take the girls out with him and his friends because it was unfitting for ladies as to where they were going. He'll have Bumblebee all to himself when he comes of age. Oh—and what about you, sir? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I came to bring a sparkling here to play with the others," Optimus said, pointing to the little yellow and red sparkling who was previously speaking to another sparkling of grey and deep blue.

"Hm, did you finally adopt, Optimus, sir?" the beige mother-creator asked with a blink, looking on at the sparkling he pointed to.

"Hm, hm, no," Optimus shook his head. "He's part of the orphans found in sector 11 of Tyger Pax, I'm just watching over him and his brother for a little while."

"I see," Electra said with a nod. "Well . . . he looks like a nice sparkling . . . where's his brother?"

"He's at the academy," Optimus said. "I brought Hot Shot here to play for a little while, to pass the time away—he's very close to his brother."

"I see," Electra nodded. "Many creators bring their young sparklings here—many of whom are sibling to those in the academy."

"I know," Optimus nodded. "Which is why I brought Hot Shot here . . . to meet others like him."

And so the two watched on as the little Hot Shot made new friends. All smiles he continued to talk to the gray and blue sparkling.

"I'm Hot Shot—who are you?" he asked with a bright and wide smile.

"Name's Bluestreak," the 'bot said with a grin. "You're new."

"Uh-huh, Optimus Prime brought me here so I can wait 'til my brother gets out of the academy," Hot Shot said with a cute giggle.

"You have a brother in the academy too?" Bluestreak asked. "So do I!"

"You do?" Hot Shot asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Actually, a lot of us kids here have family at the academy," Bluestreaker said with a nod. "Like Sideswipe there," at that he pointed to a youngling who was playing with much younger sparklings than Hot Shot, the 'bot was mostly blue all around. "He's got cousins going there, and me—I have an older brother going there. His name's Prowl and he's a senior."

"Really?" Hot Shot asked. "You know a lot about the academy."

"Of course," the older sparkling said with a smirk. "My brother's been there for 8 millennia, he's been there every since I was birthed so I grew up with that."

"You're 8 millennia?" Hot Shot asked.

"Yep," he said, standing up straighter to reveal he was much taller to Hot Shot than crouching down. "How old are you and your brother?"

"I'm 5 millennia, and my brother, Hot Rod, is 13 millennia," Hot Shot answered.

"Heh, Sideswipe! Come here!" Bluestreak called over the little one.

"Huh?" the little one popped his head out of the other younglings he was currently playing with and then got up and trotted over to one of the oldest sparklings still currently playing in the grounds. "Yes Bwuestweak?"

"Sideswipe, this guy here has a brother in the same millennia as your cousins," Bluestreak said with a smile, placing his fists on his hips he watched the youngling's visor brighten.

"You do?" the little one's visor brightened at the older 'bot standing before him.

"I guess so," Hot Shot said with a shrug. "I've never met them."

"They're weally nice and funny," Sideswipe let out a childish giggle. "Me and one of them arew named afta ourwa gwrampa."

"Huh," Hot Shot shrugged as Bluestreak turned to him.

"Hey, you wanna play over there Hot Shot?" he asked.

"Sure!" Hot Shot chirped.

"Can I come too?" Sideswipe asked.

"Sure," Bluestreak said with a smile. "Just don't trip."

And so as they ran off Sideswipe tripped, but quickly got himself back up to keep following them the best he could. Optimus smiled softly. At least Hot Shot was making friends . . . it was probably a different story for his brother though.

* * *

"Alright ruffians," Ironhide came into the training grounds and looked at all his students—new and old. "Got all of your studies out of the way?"

"Yes sir!" they all saluted.

"Good, 'cause you won't be able to think after my class," Ironhide smirked and then turned to his data files. "Like I said—today was going to be the pits. Now first up, I want Jazz and Hot Rod here right now!"

"Sir!" the two said, running up to the teacher with a salute.

"Now you two placed top in the speed testing, but I want to see how you fair against the class' original titleholders," Ironhide said as he turned to yell out the names. "Air Raid! Skydive! Silverbolt!"

The three brothers quickly came up to the teacher with professional salutes.

"Sir!" they said.

"Those guys?" Tracks asked, looking at the Aerialbots.

"Jazz, Hot Rod—I want to see you race these three." Teacher Ironhide said plainly.

"What? !" both gasped, there was just no way, NO WAY, they could race against flyers! It was impossible for a terrain Transformer to best an aerial Transformer.

"No buts! Now get to the starting line!" Ironhide ordered, the two younglings having no choice but to comply.

"What is this guy—crazy? !" Hot Rod muttered to Jazz who stood next to him as they stood at the starting line.

"My guess is yes," Jazz nodded firmly.

"Alright, on your marks!" he ordered, all five making sure they were. "Transform!" All transformed, revved their engines, and started their boosters. "GO!"

All five zoomed off, but the Aerialbots quickly took the lead.

"Sorry guys," Silverbolt flew up beside the two terrain Transformers trying their hardest to keep up.

At that all three of the flyers zoomed off, leaving Jazz and Hot Rod in their exhaust. The race was over before it began really, it only took the Aerialbots to reach the finish line in about 8 seconds tops.

"And the Aerialbots win," Ironhide said as he gazed on at the exhausted newbies who were panting and overtaken at how fast the flyers were.

"That's not fair!" Hot Rod protested, standing up on weary legs. "We can't possibly be as fast as aerial Transformers!"

"Shut your trap young one!" Ironhide pointed. "I said I don't want any lip!"

"Why in the pit did you make us race such a ridiculous race? !" Hot Rod still spoke up, quite upset at the unfairness of everything.

"I'm trying to teach you a lesson hothead!" Ironhide spat. ""If you'd just clear your fraggin' motherboard then maybe it'd make a little sense!"

"How can going up against something you know you're going to lose against make any sense? !" Hot Rod continued to argue with the teacher, making many students bright-opticed in fear.

"It's loyalty slaghead!" Ironhide was getting tired f this arrogant bot's attitude, 'bots like that just never learn. "It tests a 'bots loyalty to their superiors that in whatever order they're given, impossible or not, they follow it out!"

That shut Hot Rod up quickly. He hadn't really seen it that way—of course he was too upset to think like that but . . .

"Hot Rod, that's enough," Jazz huffed from where he sat on the ground next to where Hot Shot was standing his ground against the teacher. "I don't think you're going to want to make him mad."

Hot Rod bit his bottom lip and turned his head away in anger/embarrassment. He knew Ironhide was right—loyalty was held high above all in war . . . especially this kind of war.

"Slaggin' kid," Ironhide grumbled to himself, mentally making a note to watch that one more closely. "Alright—Tracks! You're next!"

"Hhh, yes sir," Tracks groaned, slumping forward and walking over to the starting line—he didn't feel like getting beat today . . . but . . . orders were orders.

* * *

"Stupid teacher! Stupid school! Stupid—everything!" Hot Rod growled in annoyance as he kicked against his locker in frustration.

"Where does he have all this energy?" Tracks asked Jazz who was sitting next to him in seat—completely warn out to even get angry like so . . . the speed category was a rough course.

"They're all fragheads here!" Hot Rod spat, his temper still getting the better of him.

"Hey, well just think about it Rods, tomorrow we won't be having trainings class so we can get introduced to the other teachers," Jazz said, lifting his head slightly.

"Praise for us being new recruits," Tracks said, clapping his hands together as if in prayer. "At least they're letting us morph into the regular system as slow as possible."

"Yeah," Jazz sighed and bowed his head—he so didn't have enough energon reserves for this.

The two just sat there as Hot Rod attempted to remodel his locker, not caring who was around watching him. He was going to show just how much he 'liked' this stupid academy. He just wished his life hadn't ever been ruined by that idiot Autobot leader! It was all his slaggin' fault!

"Hot Rod," came a timid voice of a brave spark who attempted to approach the rage-filled Hot Rod.

"What? !" He snapped, turning to the 'bot who dared approach him.

Silverbolt jumped at the harsh snap of Hot Rod, his optics brightened slightly. He waited for a second or two to speak, watching Hot Rod slowly sink back from him—very slowly.

"I'm sorry about what happened—you know—about the race," Silverbolt said, he hadn't meant for the 'bot to look bad and get upset—he just thought that he knew Ironhide was going to do this. "It's just . . . teacher Ironhide often does this and—"

"Frag off!" Hot Rod spat, turning his back to him, not wanting to see his pathetic face.

Silverbolt glanced down—he had tried at least. His optics glanced over at Jazz and Tracks who motioned their apologies for Hot Rod's attitude. Silverbolt only sighed out sadly before bowing his head and leaving—Hot Rod looked like he wanted to be left alone.

"Hot Rod," Tracks groaned at his friend's annoying hotheaded attitude. "Did you have to be so jerkish to him? He was trying to apologize."

"For what? ! Kicking my sorry aft? !" Hot Rod sneered. "He's an Aerialbot, he knows they're the fastest on the planet—so there should be no slaggin' apology!"

"You trying to make enemies with everyone?" Tracks asked, raising a brow. "You already did with the teacher. Slag Hot Rod, what if you get kicked out?"

"So be it!" Hot Rod snapped. "Any place is better than this fraggin' academy!"

"Hhh, whatever Hot Rod," Jazz spoke up, rubbing his tired features. "Let's just go meet Blaster and get some recharge—we could _all_ use it."

All were about to do just that when the speakers sounded off and asked for Hot Rod to come to the head office.

"Man, what'd you do this time Hot Rod?" Jazz groaned, rolling his head over to look at Hot Rod who still wore the same expression on his face—the pissed look.

"Probably make that Aerialbot cry," Tracks muttered.

"Whatever," Hot Rod sneered as he headed off, leaving his friends behind.

* * *

"So—why'd you call me here Ironhide?" Optimus asked, sitting in the chair before Ironhide's plain desk consisting of only a few documents.

"It's about that sparkling you're watching—the one with the attitude, Hot Rod," Ironhide said as he leant against his desk with his arms crossed.

"Oh, what about him?" Optimus asked, the look in his optics telling Ironhide to please tell him good news instead of bad.

"He's a slaghead," Ironhide put it bluntly.

"Oh—how so?" Optimus asked, wondering what in the pit Hot Rod did this time.

"Arguing with the teacher about what he was told to do, even yelling at the other students," Ironhide named them off. "He's got a temper problem."

"And . . . what would you have me do?" Optimus asked, like he knew how to deal with teenagers!

"Primus, punish him!" Ironhide said, throwing up his arms. "Neutralize him, take away his games, something! That boy needs to learn respect."

"This is only his second day at the academy, Ironhide. Can't you just let him off easy? He's still getting used to things," Optimus said with a roll of his shoulders.

"You have to get these 'bots early if you want to shape them into fit warriors!" Ironhide pointed.

Outside everything could be heard as Hot Rod sat in a chair, waiting for Optimus to get out speaking with his teacher. Hot Shot sitting neatly on his lap just playing with a new toy and kicking his legs. Hot Rod narrowed his optics and stared off into nothingness.

"Hm, hm, hm, hm," Hot Shot hummed to himself, unaware of what Optimus and Hot Rod's teacher was talking about. "Hot Rod, look at the toy Optimus let me have."

Hot Rod didn't even look at his little brother who held up a new favorite toy to him. Hot Shot pouted at it, but did nothing else but turn back and continue to play silently.

Hot Rod only listened to his teacher complain more about him . . . like he always did.

"I don't like hotheads Prime," Ironhide continued. "'Bots like those get other 'bots hurt! You of all people know this."

"I know, but like I said he's just new to everything. Give him another chance Ironhide," Optimus tried to calm his old friend down. "Please don't mark him off as a malfunctioned protoform when he may not be."

"Hhh, I swear Optimus, you have more patience than a plasmatron waiting on the next solar cycle," Ironhide shook his head. "Alright . . . we'll see where this goes, but you have to promise me that when he gets snappy you're the first to correct him."

"Alright," Optimus nodded, standing up.

"And I don't mean gently either!" Ironhide pointed out. "With 'bots like those you have to have an iron hand with them."

"Yes—that's why all your sparklings are such great warriors," Optimus muttered out quite sarcastically.

"Hey! Chromia and I worked hard in upgrading those mechs with love, but most of all—discipline!" Ironhide said, poking out his chest like the proud father-creator he was. "Hot Rod needs a good dosage of that, you remember that Prime."

"I will," Optimus chuckled lightly before leaving his friend and exiting his office to find the boys waiting for him.

"Optimus!" Hot Shot squealed, standing up on Hot Rod's lap and gesturing he wanted to be picked up.

"Hello Hot Shot," Optimus said as he picked the little one up and placed him on his hips. "Hot Rod—how are you feeling?"

Hot Rod didn't say anything. He just stood up with his arms crossed and turned from the commander. He wanted this day to end already and go to his temporarily home.

"Hhh, I suppose you're ready to go home then," Optimus sighed out with a soft shake of his head before heading out of the academy and leaving with the sparklings.

On their way home Optimus tried to ask the mech some questions, simple questions about his day and things.

"So—did you make any new friends?" Optimus asked as he sat in the carrier with a recharging Hot Shot in his lap and Hot Rod to his side just gazing out of the window.

"I don't want to talk to you," Hot Rod mumbled out.

It hurt Optimus' spark every time he was rejected by the teen when all he wanted to do was speak a little with him. He was just trying to show he cared, but the thing was . . . Hot Rod could care less. Sure he respected the youngling's wishes to be left alone, but was it a good thing for him to isolate himself like so?

Optimus didn't think so.

Once they got home and after Optimus had placed Hot Shot in his berth he went to check on Hot Rod who still hadn't gone into recharge.

"Hey Hot Rod," Optimus said, standing in the boy's doorway. "Would you mind if I came in? As I recall you called it rude to enter someone's room without asking for permission, so I'm asking."

"Access denied," Hot Rod plainly said as he sat on his berth with his back turned to Optimus.

"Alright, I understand." Optimus nodded. "But I want you to know that I'll be here—whenever you feel like talking."

"Well I don't, so leave!" Hot Rod spat, turning his face a little towards Optimus.

Optimus bowed his head and bid Hot Rod a pleasant recharge. He closed the boy's door and sighed. What had he gotten himself into? Taking in children such as them—especially Hot Rod? Still though . . . who would care for him if not Optimus?

"Sorry Ironhide," Optimus whispered as he walked off. "But I'm going to be as patient as possible with this one."

That he promised.


	5. Getting Better

**Hot Shot's girl: I am SO sorry I couldn't get this up earlier. My com just won't turn on so I'm kinda sad :( Had to go to the library and put this up so enjoy! :D**

"My name is Hound and I'll be your disguise teacher," the green 'bot said, clasping his hands together behind him. "Now disguise is an important factor out on the battle field . . ."

"And the teacher goes on and on," Hot Rod sighed, placing his head down on his desk he sat at in the classroom.

"Hey, Hot Rod, don't do that," Jazz poked him as he sat next to him. "You could get in trouble for looking like you're recharging."

"What about Blaster?" Hot Rod pointed to the mech behind him who had his head tilted upward, his optics hadn't even shown any glow.

"I don't think he's recharging," Jazz hissed at the condition of the poor mech. "His communications class didn't go over so well yesterday."

"What do you mean?" Hot Rod made sure to keep his tone down so not to alert the teacher of his tardiness.

"After you left home with Prime," Tracks spoke up, his own desk next to Hot Rod's as well. "He came out and he was totally malfunctioning to the max. That aside we got him to tell us what happened—he told us they placed him in a soundproof box with speakers attached all the way around."

"Yeah, they told him to decipher the message and instantly afterwards they beamed the distorted code all around him," Jazz finished. "He may have good audios, but I don't think he was ready for something like that."

"Ewh," Hot Rod hissed, turning around to look back at his friend once again—all he saw was a slight twitch before he turned back around and glanced at his friends in worry.

"The after effects should wear off soon," Jazz gave off a shrug before turning his attention back to the teacher.

With a groan Hot Rod laid his head fully on his desk with his shoulders next to his chin . . . it seemed like ever since he was taken out of Tyger Pax his life had been nothing but a mess.

* * *

"What do you suppose we do today Hot Shot?" Optimus asked, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he stared at the little sparkling who was currently sitting on the kitchen counter just kicking his little legs and eating an energon goody. "You two have been here a full three days, I say that calls for a celebration."

"Why?" Hot Shot asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Well—no one's hurt, or offlined," Optimus let off a shrug in thought. "And you're both still healthy."

"Hm, I guess so," Hot Shot shrugged himself before going back to finishing his treat.

"So—what would you like to do little one?" Optimus asked, leaning closer to the yellow sparkling.

Placing his goody down Hot Shot brought his index finger to his chin to ponder his thoughts. He had seen others do such gestures so why not him?

"How about a picnic!" Hot Shot grinned and spread out his arms in excitement.

"A picnic?" Optimus blinked once. "Alright, would you like to come with me to the storing district to pick out the supplies we'll need?"

"Yeah!" Hot Shot squealed as he stood up on the counter and instantly jumped into the Autobot commander's arms.

"Ha, ha, someone's excited," Optimus chuckled at how much energy reserves this little one had.

"It's because it's a new place!" Hot Shot cheered, throwing his arms up. "I like this city and want to see more!"

"Then you shall," Optimus patted the little one's back before heading out of the door.

Hot Shot had grown attached to him quite quickly. He trusted Optimus enough to go out alone with him. That was a good sign for an orphaned sparkling like him. Now if only his brother was this trusting.

* * *

"Alright class, you know how much I hate to repeat myself, but since there are new recruits here I'll introduce myself again. I'm Cliffjumper, and I'll be your targeting teacher," the red 'bot introduced himself with a nod. "Now, you've all been given the selected weapon in your hands—try and shoot these targets. The closer you get to the mark, the more it'll move back to test your accuracy."

"Blaster, Blaster online!" Tracks turned to his friend, trying shake him online, but he continued to lean his head back, mouth slightly agape and stare into nothingness.

"Get him online Tracks!" Jazz turned to his friend.

"I'm trying!" Tracks whispered back to him. "But he won't online!"

"The teacher's gonna be pissed if one of his students won't participate in targeting practice!" Hot Rod said to them. "I can see it—he's just like that slaggin' Ironhide."

"Take aim students," Cliffjumper said, coming up behind his students to watch how they fired their weapons. "Make sure your target is locked on."

"There's no time!" Jazz waved Tracks off. "Just take aim, if Blaster doesn't online, it's his own problem!"

And so the three took aim and waited for their teacher's consent to fire.

"FIRE!" he commanded, waving his arm down in signal to go.

The guns went off and most targets were shot. Some of the students were having a hard time locking on to their targets . . . and Hot Rod was one of them.

"Get it in gear Hot Rod!" Cliffjumper came up to the lad and shouted in his audio receiver. "Your offline friend there can shoot better than you!"

At that Hot Rod, Jazz, and Tracks turned to see a numb Blaster slowly pick up his weaponed arm and fire at the target—strangely each time he hit bullseye. In all truth their jaws dropped, but of course they didn't have time to focus on their friend, their teacher making sure they remembered that.

"Take your fragging optics off your friend!" Cliffjumper demanded, kicking each one in the aft. "In the battlefield you could end up offlining because you're too concerned with how much better someone is at shooting! Get your afts in gear!"

"Sir yes sir!" they shouted before focusing on their target once more.

Jazz and Tracks had scored a reasonable amount of points—and Blaster just so happened to be the shooter of the day. Hot Rod on the other hand was one of the lowest scores there. He just had a hard time locking onto his target for some reason.

"Sorry man," Jazz said as he and the others walked towards their next class. "It's only your 3rd day here so it's expected."

"Blaster did a better job than me!" Hot Rod hissed, pointing to his slowing onlining friend whom Tracks was helping walk around.

"Don't blame Blaster, Hot Rod," Tracks snapped back, he was having it up to here with Hot Rod as of late. "You've been an aft ever since we got here."

"Well, maybe that's because I want to be expelled," Hot Rod flapped his arms before walking ahead of his friends towards their next class which so happened to be mechanics.

"I'm Firstaid, and I'll be your mechanics teacher," the white mech nodded with a smile. "I know most of you don't care much for mechanics but you'll need to at least know the basics—it could save your life one day."

"Uhuhh!" Tracks groaned, banging his face into his desk. "I hate this field!"

"Eh-hem, excuse me—please keep your comments to yourself," a 'bot sitting next to him replied, keeping his attention on the teacher.

Tracks and his friends looked at the red and white 'bot, sneering even. His red visor glew straight towards the teacher. Tcheh, must be the teacher's pet.

"Aft," Hot Rod mumbled before resting his chin on his desk.

He could see out of the corner of his optic that the 'bot was glaring at him. A frown placed all over his features. He could care less though, Hot Rod absolutely didn't care for this class or it's teachers and students.

After the day's classes they all began to head over to their designated fields. Hot Rod dreaded going to meet that aft of a teacher again, but he had no choice. He, Jazz, and Tracks waved farewell to Blaster and wished him return in one piece.

"Come back normal okay," Jazz waved.

"I'll try," Blaster slumped his shoulders. "That teacher was crazy! You guys enjoy your class too."

"Sure," Hot Rod scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Hhh, Jazz and Tracks told me what happened Hot Rod," Blaster came up to the 'bot. "Please try and give this academy a chance. It's our only home for now."

"Whatever," Hot Rod sniffed before turning his gaze elsewhere.

"Oh! Hey guys!" suddenly they were bombarded by a blur of yellow and red.

"It's the twins," Tracks gasped—even though they were their age it seemed their motherboards had yet to mature to their standards.

"You guys heading off to your excel classes?" they asked.

"Yeah," Jazz said, chuckling nervously—hoping to be rid of them.

"That's cool," they nodded. "Haven't seen you guys a lot because of our own classes, we need to hang out sometime."

"Sure," Jazz once again chuckled nervously. "But you better head off to your classes before the teachers get upset with you."

"Oh please," Sunstreaker waved off the comment. "It's not like our teacher's Ironhide."

At that the two chuckled before running off leaving the three who had his class grinding their teeth.

"Well," Blaster thought it was best to head off now—by the looks of his friends. "I'll be going then."

"Who do they think they are?" Tracks asked, continuing to grind his teeth with the others.

"Yeah," Jazz asked, his visor's glow darkening slightly. "Is that supposed to be some kind of a sick joke?"

"Slaggers probably don't even have his class," Hot Rod groaned, narrowing his optics on the twins' frames as they retreated to their happy little classrooms full of happy little teachers!

"Come on," Tracks sighed out, slumping forward. "Might as well get this over."

"Yeah," Jazz sighed as he and Hot Rod turned and headed after Tracks.

Each one regretted entering their classroom, they were not looking forward to another day of defeat and wasted energon reserves. All optics went to see a stern looking Ironhide when in fact he was nowhere to be insight.

"Where is he?" Hot Rod asked, him and his friends glancing around knowing that the teacher was usually the first to the class than the students..

"I don't know, but who's that?" Tracks asked, tapping his fellow's shoulders to make them turn and watch a red aerial come in, looking much older than their class.

"Heh, sorry I'm late class," he apologized as he jogged up to the front of the class. "But hey! I'm out of med-bay and able to teach you once more!"

Hot Rod, Jazz, and Tracks looked around in confusion. They were even more confused to hear a happy cheer for the 'bot from the other students who happened to know him. The 'bot soon took note of the confused faces and came towards them saying—

"You must be the new recruits, sorry if no one informed you but I'm Powerglide, the original teacher of the speed class."

"What—about Ironhide?" Jazz asked, tilting his head to the side.

"He's the head of the training field, what all these sectors are broken up into. He'll sometimes fill in for a downed teacher or just come to observe," Powerglide said with a nod. "It's good to see you though—I've heard a lot about you."

"Eh, thanks," Tracks grinned knowing it was, more or likely, bad news.

"Alright, like before—aerial Transformers to the right and terrain Transformers to the left," Powerglide backed up and motioned them to split with his arms.

"What's going on here?" Jazz asked as he and friends went over to the terrain 'bots section.

"Alright," Powerglide sighed in content with a nod. "As you know you have your own courses. The flyers over there and the grounders over here."

"Um, question!" Hot Rod felt like this teacher was actually alright and didn't mind answering any questions his students were confused about.

"Yes, what is it. . . uh . . . Hot Rod?" Powerglide asked, he had to research his data files for the new recruit's name.

"Ironhide put us against the flyers yesterday—since he's head shouldn't you do what he does?" Hot Rod asked.

"He may be head but this still is my class," Powerglide waved his index finger at the boy. "My rules from now on little sparkling, if you don't like them you can leave."

"No, no, I don't mind them actually," Hot Rod said, holding up his hands in defense.

"That's what I like to hear from a new little speedster!" Powerglide chuckled as he wrapped his arm around the boy's neck. "'Cause as I see it there is no faster 'bot on Cybertron than an aerial—so having them go up against terrain 'bots like yourself is completely idiotic don't you say?" at that Powerglide broke out in a fit of laughter, Hot Rod couldn't help but chuckle himself—finally, a 'bot with his head still screwed on right! "Alright—now go out there and speed those little wheels off!" Powerglide cheered as he pushed Hot Rod towards the terrain racing grounds.

Hot Rod smiled at his teacher who quickly turned and instructed the aerials on the mistakes they were making in their flight patterns. Hot Rod turned and ran over to where his friends were waiting for him, and of course still gazing at their amazingly awesome teacher.

"That mech's alright!" Jazz said with a smile and nod.

"I'd give him more, but two thumbs up is all I got," Tracks said, raising his hands in praise.

"Yeah, at least that aft won't be bothering us for a while," Hot Rod chuckled, transforming with his friends and racing off towards the tracks.

* * *

"You should have seen him! He was so cool! I mean he could easily fly circles around those stupid aerials! He even tracked us as well!" Hot Rod went on and on about his new teacher that he had found out was the actual fulltime teacher of his speed classes.

Optimus only chuckled and smiled softly at the young one who seemed to be in a much better mood. At least he was talking about his day and everything. Hot Shot even seemed surprised that his brother was actually attempting to talk Prime's audio receivers right out of their holdings.

"I can't wait to go back tomorrow!" Hot Rod cheered. "He's actually the greatest teacher on Cybertron! I can't believe I thought that aft Ironhide was the real teacher of my class! Ha! Can you believe it? That slagger probably can't even compare to my class's speed!"

"Well, I'm glad you finally had a day you enjoyed at the academy. And you even got let go early," Optimus said with a smile.

"Yeah, Powerglide's an awesome teacher," Hot Rod soon found himself smiling at the Prime. "Hey, where are we going?" at that he glanced out the window of the carrier to find out they weren't heading home just yet.

"Well, since it's this special occasion Hot Shot thought it wonderful to go on a picnic," Optimus said, clasping his hands together on his lap where Hot Shot sat.

"What special occasion?" Hot Rod asked, his mood becoming less enthusiastic like before.

"It's the third day you and Hot Shot have lived here and so far you two are thriving, especially you Hot Rod. I'm very happy to hear you're finally enjoying the academy," Optimus said with a nod.

"Tch, I never said I was enjoying the academy," Hot Rod muttered as he turned in his seat towards the window and away from Optimus, crossing his arms. "Just teacher Powerglide."

_Hhh, for Primus' sake_, Optimus moaned inwardly with an outward sigh and roll of his optics.

Still, it was a start. Hot Rod was liking something about the academy, and if it was just a single teacher then Optimus would gladly appreciate all that Powerglide has done. That 'bot was always one of the nicest 'bots . . . towards youngsters at least, towards his own comrades he could be a little snappy if you know what he meant.

"Do you want to go on a picnic Rody?" Hot Shot sat up on Optimus' lap and leant towards his brother.

"Sure Shoty," Optimus got the privilege to see the young red mech smile as he turned and rubbed his brother's head making the little one giggle before tumbling out of Optimus' lap and heading over to sit in his brother's—the two now engrossed in the city they flew over.

_At least he can still smile_, Optimus nodded, if anything Optimus wanted those brothers to smile—after all they've been through one would think they were now incapable of pulling such a gesture, but they did and Optimus was glad.

As the carrier stopped to let the three out Hot Shot ran before them and gazed at the park. It was so large and beautiful he didn't know what to climb on first. Before he could run off though Hot Rod trotted up to him and took his hand in his.

"Don't get lost Shoty," he said, smiling down at his brother.

Hot Shot nodded and then turned and took Optimus' hand in his other, now all were hand-in-hand. Hot Rod glared at Optimus for a little while before he decided to push the Prime from his banks and focus on the nice park set out before them—others had already started picnics of their own so finding a spot just right for them would be a little difficult.

"Oh, oh! Over there!" Hot Shot let go of Optimus' hand and pointed to a perfect spot that seemed to be isolated by itself.

In a flash Hot Shot ran off with his brother in hand to the spot he wanted. Optimus laughed at the scene of Hot Rod almost tumbling over as the little sparkling dragged him towards his destined spot. Hot Shot had sat down and pulled his brother to sit down with him.

"Here?" Hot Rod asked, looking at his beaming little brother.

"Yeah, yeah!" He nodded enthusiastically.

"Okay," Hot Rod rolled his shoulders with a chuckle.

"Alright, this is the place you want to picnic is it?" came Optimus as he took their supply holder and placed it down in front of the boys, then sitting down with them.

"I'm depleted!" Hot Rod gasped, his hand going to reach into the holder for the supplies.

"Waaaaiiiit!" Hot Shot whined, making his brother stop.

"What is it now Hot Shot?" Hot Rod asked, his mood now annoyed at his little brother.

"We have to say our thanks to Primus—isn't that right Optimus?" Hot Shot asked, turning his protofom blue opticals towards the Prime's way.

"That's right," Optimus nodded, he had been teaching Hot Shot to always say 'grace' before he dug into his meals and now he hoped Hot Rod would like to join.

"Hhh, whatever," Hot Rod groaned, offlining his optics—at least he offlined them.

Both Hot Shot and Optimus clasped their hands together and offlined their optics, giving up thanks to their Creator.

"Dear Primus . . ." Optimus began.

"We bless this food," Hot Shot continued with a nod.

Hot Rod onlined his optics for a little while as he watched his brother repeat this prayer. He can't believe that, in the short time they had been with the Prime, that he had actually gotten Hot Shot to say his prayers . . . not even their father-creator could do that . . . though Hot Shot was young at the time when he tried.

"Make a reserve for our systems," Optimus continued on.

"And let us never be depleted again!" Hot Shot nodded cutely.

Optimus chuckled as he onlined his optics and watched Hot Shot become the first one to dig into the supply holder, Hot Rod not far behind him.

"Have as much as you like boys," Optimus said, leaning back. "You've deserved it."

Optimus watched the little ones speak amongst each other and laugh with mouths full of food. It came even as far to where Hot Shot had smacked a good dab of energon on Hot Rod who only retaliated with a smack on food on the little one's head. Even though it was going to be a pain cleaning him when he got home Optimus let the two play—at least they were laughing and smiling and playing like normal sparklings should . . . than scavenge around or steal from others what they needed to survive.

"Ha, ha! Man! Look at your face Shoty!" Hot Rod laughed so hard he held his abdomen that seemed to want to lock up now.

Optimus joined the boys in their fits of laughter . . . that is . . . until he received a signal from headquarters. Optimus sat up and checked it through. He was being called in.

"What is it?" Hot Rod asked, he and Hot Shot froze in a timeless struggle as both stared at their caretaker.

"I've been called in," Optimus let out a sigh. "I'm sorry to ruin you boys' picnic, but duty is duty."

"Are you leaving?" Hot Shot pouted, he wanted to get Optimus next.

"I'm sorry Hot Shot, but I have to," Optimus said, kneeling before the sparkling and rubbing his head. "I'll trust your brother to take you home. You know the way, right Hot Rod?"

"Yeah," Hot Rod nodded.

"Good," Optimus let out a sigh before standing up, transforming and leaving the brothers to their picnic—he just had to trust Hot Rod wouldn't decide to take this opportunity to take his brother and leave the city.

"Should we go home now?" Hot Shot asked, gazing up at his brother whose mood was now down again.

"Yeah," Hot Rod sighed out, standing up and then picking his brother up.

* * *

"Hhh, what is it Jetfire?" Optimus came inside the building and up to the young officer.

"Sorry sir," Jetfire turned and saluted his superior. "Were you doing something when we called?"

"Hm, I was having a picnic with Hot Shot and Hot Rod," Optimus gave off a small unseen smile.

"Ewh, how'd it go?" Jetfire asked, gesturing a flinch.

"Surprisingly it was going quite well," Optimus nodded, sighing that he was finally getting somewhere with the elder of the brothers.

"Well—sorry to pull you out of that sir, but we need you to take a look at this," Jetfire turned and motioned to the monitors where the other technicians were at work.

"Is that . . . ?" started Optimus.

"Megatron? Yes it is Prime," came Scavenger, his arms crossed over his wide chest. "Our spybots have captured him working on it."

"By the Allspark it's so similar to ours!" Opimus' opticals brightened just at the mere sight of the large creature.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he can operate it," Jetfire pointed out. "Which was why he was after Preceptor and the data he had."

"I'm honestly surprised he hasn't sent his lackeys after the sparkling yet," Scavenger said with a nod.

"He did the first time I managed to find the brothers," Optimus turned to his old friend and explained. "But still . . ." the commander turned back to the monitors and continued to gaze at the large creature. "I won't be surprised if Megatron even has the gull to send someone here in Autobot City."

"Which is why you should probably never leave the youngling alone—either one," Scavenger said, narrowing his optics.

Optimus turned to the 'bot and stared at him a little while with narrowed optics of his own.

"Well I wouldn't have if you hadn't called me in," Optimus commented sarcastically. "Is this all you wanted Jetfire? I have to return home as soon as possible if this is the case."

"That and the Elders wanted to know how Hot Shot's data transferring is going," Jetfire said, looking through his files.

"Did they not get the reports from the science division?" Optimus asked. "I'm sure Skyfire—"

"They want to hear your own report," Jetfire stated.

"Oh . . . I see," Optimus nodded. "Well—just like Skyfire had said, it's going quite well. They're deciphering the data actually faster than they thought, and Hot Shot's motherboard is still intact and working properly. No damage done on either side."

"Alright then," Jetfire finished logging Optimus' statement into his data files and then looked at his commander. "Then you're free to return to the little ones."

"Alright," Optimus nodded but added one last comment. "Still though, I want extra guard at the boarders of Iacon. If what I've seen is true then Megatron may still strike Hot Shot at any time. Tell the guard to scan any strangers entering or exiting the sectors. Just to be on the safe side."

"Sir!" Jetfire and Scavenger saluted and watched their commander leave.

"Hhh, if only Preceptor hadn't have offlined," Jetfire groaned. "It would have saved us all the trouble!"

"I know lad," Scavenger nodded. "But have you noticed Optimus' higher moods as of late?"

"You know, you're right," Jetfire agreed. "Do you think it's because of the sparklings he took in his care?"

"It may just be," Scavenger nodded. "Though I'm surprised that older one hasn't caused his motherboard to crash."

"I know right," Jetfire chuckled as he and his comrade continued on with their work.

* * *

Optimus had to say he was a bit nervous returning home. He had entrusted Hot Rod of all 'bots to return himself and his younger brother to a home Optimus was unsure of that they liked—especially the elder. By all that's right in Primus' opticals Hot Rod could have taken this chance to run away with his brother . . . something Optimus was sure he had been wanting to do ever since he got here.

Still though—Optimus had returned to his home in hopes that his worst fears weren't the case. He couldn't explain it but he had some faith in Hot Rod that he wouldn't do such a horrible thing . . . even though the boy had plainly said he would. With a mental gulp Optimus opened his front door to find the place all dark—as if no one was here.

Keeping the thought of the two sparklings off somewhere in Autobot City trying to find their way out, out of his mind Optimus pressed onward and came to stand before Hot Rod's designated room. He stood there for a moment, his data banks scanning through every possible place they could go if they had ran away. Shaking his head of the thoughts Optimus opened the door silently—perhaps they were recharging . . . hopefully.

Peeking inside Optimus looked on in a sigh of relief to see the two brothers peacefully recharging in Hot Rod's berth. Hot Shot was cuddled up tightly against his brother and Hot Rod was holding onto his brother close. Neither one wanting to part the other's presence this night, and both clean as a protoform's underside.

Optimus made sure to save this image in his banks. He smiled at their affection for the other and was glad that he could now trust Hot Rod with a simple task of returning here with his brother when told to. And so Optimus left the two to recharge—he had a lot of things to tell them tomorrow . . . about how they'd be needing a guard 24/7 now, which he was sure Hot Rod will show his dislike, but whatever . . . that was the worries of tomorrow and so right now he was going to let the two recharge and himself relax.

"Recharge well little ones," He whispered, shutting the door and leaving them be to their dreams.


	6. Worries

"Hot Rod, may you pass the liquidized Energon?" Optimus asked, turning to look at the teen who was sitting near the other end of the table, Hot Shot sitting at Optimus' left.

Hot Rod stared at the older 'bot with sapphire optics, no emotion pulling at his features. Optimus watched carefully as he picked up the bowl, readying to pass it. Optimus knew what was coming, but he still had to try to show this 'bot he could ask anything of him—no matter what he did.

Leaning his arm out, Hot Rod held the bowl away from the table and unattached his fingers, letting the bowl fall to the floor and spill out all its contents. Optimus flinched at it, sighing inwardly at the waste. Hot Shot made a childish gasp and covered his mouth, looking to Optimus wondering what was to be done—he knew it was wrong what Hot Rod did and usually when one did something wrong they were to be punished so this wrong was corrected.

"You didn't have to do that Hot Rod," Optimus let out a pained sigh, gazing at the mess on the floor next to Hot Rod who only continued to stare at Optimus with slightly narrowed optics.

"Hmph!" Hot Rod made the motion to stick his nostril plating in the air slightly before turning and heading off to his room without a word—or a proper refueling.

"Hhh," Optimus let out yet another pained sigh as he came to pinch the bridge of his nostril plating.

After rubbing his golden optics slightly he looked at Hot Shot who was still sitting to his left. Hot Shot was just looking at him, waiting to see what he did next. Optimus supposed Hot Shot thought he'd go give his brother some punishment, but he wouldn't. With an almost silent groan, Optimus got up from his seat and came to the mess. He took out a cloth from his pack stored in his torso and began cleaning it up.

He should be used to this by now . . . the way Hot Rod was acting that is. He'd always make a mess of things—literally. That was teenagers nowadays he guessed. Optimus went to pick up the turned over bowl that once carried the liquidized Energon inside it, but he noticed it wasn't there anymore. Turning his golden optical sensors in its fallen direction he noticed little Hot Shot holding it in his grasp, the bowl almost too big for him to hold but he managed.

Optimus smiled softly and affectionately at the little one under his faceplate. Lifting one of his knee rotators he reached out and patted the sparkling's head. Hot Shot smiled an apologetic smile on behalf of his brother hoping it was good enough for Optimus.

"Don't worry Hot Shot," Optimus let out a sigh as he placed the wet cloth in the bowl Hot Shot was holding. "I'm not mad at your brother."

"You're not?" Hot Shot asked. "Not even after all the mean things he's done?" his protoform blue optics now staring up at the Autobot Commander.

"It's to be expected from him," Optimus said, rubbing the sparkling's head once more before taking up the bowl and standing up. "He's been like this ever since guards were assigned to him for his protection a month ago. He'll probably continue to act this way."

"I don't understand . . . what's wrong with having guards?" Hot Shot asked, following the Prime as he entered the cleaning room and placed the bowl in one of the tubs.

"Nothing really," Optimus said, taking out a faucet hose and spraying the bowl down to cleanliness. "It's just . . . for him . . . I'd guess it's all about freedom. It seems like your brother's more used to doing things on his own, not having to be chaperoned around like he is now—by other 'bots."

"Oh," Hot Shot shook his head in understanding. "Yeah . . . he was like that a lot when we were on our own."

"Yep, so that is why he is lashing out like he is," Optimus said, placing the faucet hose down and looking at the little sparkling at his feet. "It's just his way of showing me he doesn't like it."

"Can't he find a better way to show he doesn't like it?" Hot Shot asked, looking up at Optimus with wide opticals as the Prime came down to pick the little one up.

"Probably," Optimus said with a nod, holding the sparkling close to his chest. "But I'd rather him not, knowing him it'd only be in a worse way."

Optimus chuckled as he took Hot Shot to his room that was right next to Hot Rod's. After passing in it he called out to the other brother beside them.

"Hot Rod, get ready. It's time for you to head out to the Academy."

"Frag off!" was all that was heard from Hot Rod's room, but both could tell who shouted such a mean comment.

"Gasp! Bad word, bad word!" Hot Shot covered his mouth every time he'd hear his brother say such words—he had been told by Optimus that saying them was a 'No, no' so he'd cover his mouth so those words would never slip through it.

"That's right Hot Shot," Optimus said, patting the little one's nostril plating with his thick index finger. "I don't want to catch you ever saying such hurtful remarks like that."

"It's hurtful?" Hot Shot asked. "Are you hurt?"

"I can handle them," Optimus said, smiling softly at the sparkling as he placed him in his recharge berth. "Now recharge, it's time for you stasis."

"'Kay," Hot Shot smiled cutely up at the Prime before obediently turning off his optics and rolling onto his side in recharge.

"That's a good boy," Optimus whispered affectionately, patting the younger brother's shoulder lightly before leaving the room and closing the door.

As he exited he turned to see Hot Rod standing by his own door, with his arms crossed and a sour look in his expressions. Optimus glanced towards the front door—he had been doing this for a month straight so it shouldn't be too hard anymore.

"Your escort are outside waiting for you—don't keep them waiting this time," Optimus said, flicking his head towards the door.

Hot Rod only shot Optimus another mean glare before he headed out with a loud slam on the door. Optimus sighed out, wondering how on Cybertron one could keep up such an attitude towards another. You'd think Hot Rod would get used to this all, yet here he was—still lashing out like it was the first day Optimus had told him he'd be needing guards to go wherever he went 24/7.

"Teenagers," Optimus moaned with a roll of his optics before shaking his head and heading towards his home office to check in on HQ.

* * *

"Hey Hot Rod!" Jazz looked up to see the red 'bot coming with his usual guard in tow. "How's everything going?"

"The usual," Hot Rod groaned out with a roll of his optics before shooting a thumb in his guards' direction. "These slagheads are still following me around."

"I can see that," Jazz let off a chuckle.

"Where's Tracks and Blaster?" Hot Rod asked, looking around at their usual meeting spot before they headed off to their classes and noticing the two not there.

"The Principal called them to his office," Jazz said.

"What'd they do?" Hot Rod asked, walking up closer to the racing 'bot.

"I dunno," Jazz said with a roll of his shoulder rotators. "Nothing that I can remember."

"How long have they been gone?" Hot Rod asked.

"Since early this morning," Jazz said, motioning towards the lighted sky. "Slag if I know what they're talking about."

Hot Rod was about to place his processor in thought about what the two could have likely done when he noticed the two coming right their way. He picked up his deep blue sapphire opticals and locked on to them.

"There they are," He said, pointing in the direction they were coming from.

Jazz turned and looked at them as well. He noticed the strange look on both of their faces. If he had a brow he'd raise it 'cause he had no clue as to why the two had such long faces.

"What's the matter with you two?" Jazz asked, coming to stand up as the two halted before them, seemingly a little sluggish today.

"They . . . they placed me in an advanced communications class," Blaster said, knowing the honor and horror of heading off into a higher communication's class—but mostly the horror. "I technically graduated."

"I got adopted," Tracks spoke up his trouble.

"Wait—What? !" Jazz and Hot Rod's optical sensors brightened at what Tracks had just said, their jaws even coming to unlatch.

"It's crazy right?" Blaster said, even when he had heard it he didn't believe it . . . and he thought his situation was bad.

"What do you mean you got adopted?" Jazz asked, looking at the red-faced blue 'bot.

"It's just that," Tracks said with a shrug, slightly shaking his head, himself wondering how it happened. "A Noble family wanted to adopt me and so they did."

"Wait, you mean that family you were talking to that one time the Academy held that banquet?" Jazz asked, pointing to the blue 'bot.

"Yeah," Tracks said with a nod. "I don't know if you guys noticed but that wasn't just any banquet, it was strictly for us orphans to be shown to nice families. Pit I didn't even know anyone was looking to adopt teens. I thought we were too old."

"I guess not," Blaster said, shaking his head, trying to comprehend everything.

"So this family that adopted you," Hot Rod spoke up, coming to cross his arms. "Do they have any sparklings?"

"Yeah, they do actually," Tracks nodded. "Which is why I was surprised that they wanted to adopt me. They have a son; he's a bit older than me. He goes to this Academy, and they have a daughter who's a bit younger than me . . . she seems to like me."

"So I take it you won't be staying here at the dorms anymore," Jazz said, the tone in his vocals lower, signaling his sadness about his friend's departing.

"No," Tracks let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. "I'm going to be living with them since they live close to the Academy."

"That sucks," Blaster groaned. "Now it's just going to be me and Jazz here."

"It's not going to be the same without you Tracks," Jazz said, looking at his longtime friend with a faint farewell smile.

"Now hold on," Tracks spoke up, holding up his hands. "I'm not leaving yet and I'll still be here for classes. It's not like I'm being shipped off to another planet or anything."

"Seems that way," Blaster mumbled.

"You do realize why they're adopting you right?" Hot Rod spoke up, gaining the others attentions. "They're upping their Noble status."

"What are you talking about?" Tracks asked.

"It's simple," Hot Rod said, pacing around a little before stopping and looking at his three friends who seemed totally clueless about this. "The Higher-ups of Iacon want to give their family favor in the optics of the citizens, so they adopt the forgotten orphans—make themselves look like saints."

"You sure?" Jazz asked, the light in his visor dimming slightly towards his friend.

"They already have sparklings of their own," Hot Rod pointed out. "It's not like they can't produce a protoform of their own and so look to the orphanage for salvation. Think about it."

"Hmmm, you know . . . I think you're right Hot Rod," Tracks said with a nod after much consideration to what his friend had just said. "It would make sense. The family that adopted me do like their high status among the Transformers."

"Exactly," Hot Rod pointed. "So don't be surprised if you two," At that he pointed to Blaster and Jazz. "End up getting adopted by other Noble and Political families like Tracks here. They just want to up their status . . . that's all."

"Man . . . how are you so experienced in this department?" Jazz asked, looking at Hot Rod like some encyclopedia file.

"Yeah, is living with Optimus Prime _that_ bad?" Blaster asked, all optics on Hot Rod.

"I just know their kind," Hot Rod said, crossing his arms and turning his face away from his friends.

He wasn't saying 'yes' or 'no' because in truth he didn't know. Sure he didn't like living with the Prime because of the reason he thought about him trying to up his status—which he couldn't see how he could any further . . . being a Prime was as high a Transformer could be in anything, and those were born not made. In truth Optimus Prime was doing a good job in caring for him and his little brother. It was surprising, what with his busy life and all, but somehow he managed to stay with them and care for them . . . just like a loving creator.

But that was just it . . . he was NOT their creator and for that sole reason of him trying to be Hot Rod hated him. He and Hot Shot had a Father-Creator and a Mother-Creator—offlined, yes, but you couldn't replace those who birthed you into this world . . . never.

"Whatever you say Hot Rod," Jazz raised his hands with a sigh knowing his friend was in one of those 'moods' which he had been in lately—ever since the orphans had been taken out of Sector 11 of Tyger Pax.

"Oh," Tracks said as he tilted his head up at the sound of the signaling for school to begin. "It's time to head to class guys."

"Wait, Blaster you said you practically graduated right?" Jazz asked, walking beside the communications 'bot. "Are you still going to go to our classes then?"

"I graduated the 3rd millennia's communications class . . . as a matter of fact I think I did the 4th and 5th millennia too," Blaster said with a nod. "They said I was exceptionally gifted in the area for having no experience, but I haven't graduated the other 3rd millennia classes so I'll still have most of my classes with you guys."

"Oh . . . that's good to know," Jazz said with a few nods.

* * *

"I'm Hot Shot, what's your name?" Hot Shot asked as he knelt down beside the young orange sparkling who was currently playing in the sand crystals.

"I'm Smokescreen, it's nice to meet you," the little orange 'bot said with a wide smile that could perhaps match Hot Shot's.

"How old are you?" Hot Shot asked, tilting his head to the side. "You look young."

"I am 5 millennia just so you know!" He said, standing up and defending his age range. "The only reason why I look so young is 'cause I'm so small!"

"Heh, you are small, ha, ha!" Hot Shot suddenly noticed it more as the little orange mech stood up, not even coming to Hot Shot's shoulders.

"It's not funny!" Smokescreen pouted as he crossed his short arms. "My Father-Creator was just as short and no one made fun of him!"

"Hot Shot," Optimus called out to the little one, noticing him making fun of the newcomer's height. "Don't make fun of him, it's not nice."

"Sorry," Hot Shot said, turning to Optimus and placing his hand over his lips to show that no more mean comments will exit them.

"Haheh! The little mech's hilarious!" came a familiar voice that boomed right behind Optimus, the Prime turned to see his comrade, Jetfire, staring on as Hot Shot spoke to the smaller orange 'bot.

"Jetfire? What are you doing here?" Optimus asked, turning where he sat in the bench to look at his comrade better.

"Oh, just came to check up on you sir!" Jetfire said with a salute and straight form.

"At ease soldier, we're at a sparkling's playing ground for Primus' sake," Optimus chuckled as he turned his attention back towards Hot Shot who was now playing with the smaller sparkling in the sand crystals.

"Primus it seems like it's been centuries since you took those brothers in, but it's only been a month . . . a month!" Jetfire said with a shake of his head as he came to sit next to his leader on the bench and continue to watch little Hot Shot play with the other sparklings running around and giggling like crazy.

"I know," Optimus let out a sigh, it was hard to believe it's only been a short time since he's taken the brothers into his care—they said it might be some centuries until they were done with Hot Shot's data transferring, but why did it feel so long?

"They a handful?" Jetfire asked, turning his golden optics towards his commander.

"Sometimes," Optimus said. "Hot Rod certainly is, but I think I'm getting better at handling him."

"Giving him the ole aft-paddling?" Jetfire asked, motioning with his hands the action.

"Hm, hm, no," Optimus shook his head with a small chuckle.

"Oh that's right . . . you don't believe in sparkling punishment," Jetfire nodded, clapping his hands together.

"That's not true," Optimus defended, narrowing his opticals at the young officer. "It's just that I believe patience with sparklings are what's best."

"I see your point," Jetfire nodded. "But I gotta tell ya Prime, you may have patience, but I'm not too sure if the sparklings will."

It was true. Sparklings nowadays were always focused on upgrading and becoming fully formed Transformers. Never wanting to stop and enjoy their sparklinghood . . . well . . . that's what happens when they live in a peaceful era is what Optimus guessed. Optimus' golden opticals focused in on Hot Shot's frame, he watched the little one play tag with his new friend Smokescreen there, of course little Sideswipe wanted to join in, but kept tripping.

Optimus hoped these sparklings enjoyed their sparklinghood. To do that though there'd have to be no war and so Optimus swore he'd try and hold it off for as long as he could . . . so every sparkling in his time could upgrade in peace, but by the looks of Megatron and his men's doings . . . Optimus was very unsure how well their short-lived peace would last.

"Maybe you should adopt them," Jetfire suddenly worded, throwing Optimus right out of his war thoughts.

"W-What?" Optimus nearly gasped as he snapped his head towards the Flyer.

"You seem really attached to them," Jetfire nodded and then shrugged. "What else will you do once this Project's done and you have to give them up?"

"That's a while from now Jetfire," Optimus said, leaning his elbows on his knee rotators. "There is plenty of time to dwell on those things."

"I know," Jetfire said with a nod and then looked at his commander. "But with all due respect sir . . . you'll probably hold the thought off for far too long . . . and then they'll be gone."

"Hm, me . . . adopting those two?" Optimus chuckled at the thought . . . not because he didn't like them or thought they were '_unadoptable_' but the thought of the High Council and their continually pressing matter for him to produce an heir . . . a Prime, since he may very well be the last. "What would the others think?"

"Since when do you care what the _others_ think?" Jetfire asked, knowing that when Optimus referred to the 'others' he meant the High Council.

"Times have changed Jetfire," Optimus let out a weary sigh, his optics still following little Hot Shot who was now running around the playing constructions. "I grow weary of pressing matters far too often."

"Then what will you do?" Jetfire asked, looking at the Autobot commander. "When you have to let them go?"

There was a silence. Jetfire keeping his observing opticals on Prime while the commander continued to watch the little one squeal and giggle with the other sparklings. Jetfire didn't mind the wait and silence, Optimus usually answered anyways.

"I don't know," Optimus replied softly, the thought now pressing more into his processor.

He'd be thinking about this much more.

* * *

"Alright kiddos!" Powerglide called out as he looked through his data files as to what he was going to make his class do today. "Today you are going to be put into pairs."

"Teacher, didn't you do that last week?" a student called out.

"Yes, but that was in your own categories, I mean pairs in each. I'm going to be placing a Terrestrial and a Aerial together, see how you guys fair."

"Is it just me or does this idea remind me of Ironhide's?" Hot Rod mumbled into Jazz's audio receiver who nodded in agreement.

Hot Rod then rose his hand just as Powerglide began calling off names and pairing 'bots up. He noticed the red and orange 'bot's raised hand and so pointed to him.

"Yes Hot Rod, what is it?" He asked, willing to answer any question.

"Isn't that kind of unfair for us Terrestrials?" Hot Rod asked, all the Aerials knew him as the complainer and possibly hater of the Flyers.

"That's the point," Powerglide said with a grin under his faceplate. "You are going to be teamed up together so you both can get along and, if out on a mission with a Terrestrial or Aerial, know how to act around them and work as a team together."

"I get it," Tracks said with a nod. "But will the hotshot Aerials play fair?" that last parted he mumbled to himself knowing all-too-well how the Aerials acted around the Terrestrial 'bots.

"Alright, Jazz—you're with Cosmo," Powerglide called off the teams.

"Alright," Jazz said with a grin. "He's not that bad of a guy!"

Jazz hopped over to his partner who waved a shy smile at him. Jazz only nudged him on the shoulder and chuckled.

"Tch, yeah that's because he's one of the slowest Aerial 'bots," Hot Rod groaned with a roll of his opticals.

"Tracks, you're with Slingshot," Powerglide jabbed his thumb back to where the youngest of the Aerial brothers.

"Hhh, great . . . I get the energized one," Tracks groaned, slumping his shoulders before slugging his way over to the younger of the flying brothers.

"Hot Rod, you and Silverbolt will be a team," Powerglide stated, motioning for Silverbolt to go over to Hot Rod.

Hot Rod did not like that selection too much. His optics darkened as he watched the oldest of the Aerial brothers slowly walk over to where he stood, not meeting his gaze at all, knowing Hot Rod was not too fond of him and he was right to think that because he wasn't.

Hot Rod crossed his arms and rolled his optics. He didn't like this selection at all and he made sure to let his partner know. He could see out of the corner of his vision how uneasy Silverbolt stood next to him, sometimes glancing at him, but mostly keeping his visual contact away from him.

"Alright, now that everyone has a partner . . ." Powerglide spoke up, looking at each pairing before chuckling slightly. "Heh, well what do ya know . . . the Aerial and Terrestrials are all evenly matched. Last millennia we had more Terrestrials, heh."

Hot Rod only happened a disliking glance towards Silverbolt who still wouldn't look directly at him.

"Alright, get on the markers everyone," Powerglide said as he jogged off to the side of the stadium and went towards the controls. "Now be ready to act as a team, 'cause I'm about to reset the training grounds for both Aerial _and_ Terrestrial to maneuver around fluently."

Hot Rod watched the other teams looking at their partners, most weren't too thrilled to be working with them, but what Powerglide said was right. Out in the battlefield there could be situations where an Aerial is all you have to fight with against the enemy.

"Alright, here we go!" Powerglide said as he changed the grounds to where many obstacles shot out of the ground and the ceiling to give both partners a fair run. "Now take a look at your surroundings and then your partner."

Every team did so and scanned their partner over.

"Ask yourself if you believe they can help you get through this as a team, if you don't think they can . . . then don't even try running this practice," Powerglide said, making sure each word he selected to say struck to the core of each one of his students. "That is the responsibilities of a partner . . . you have to count on the other, fully trust in them to have your back because if you don't have theirs . . . who's to say they'll have yours out on the battlefield?"

The teacher couldn't have picked any better wording. It made each student truly think about their partner and nod in agreement. Hot Rod even understood it . . . it didn't mean he had to listen though.

"Don't get in my way Flyer," Hot Rod said as he readied himself at the starting line, preparing to jump into transformation.

He could hear Silverbolt make a sound, as if he was going to comment, but it was too late. Powerglide gave the 'GO!' and so Hot Rod was off, racing off without his partner.

"Hot Rod what are you doing? !" Powerglide called, noticing he was the only one without his partner nearby at the moment. "You're speeding off without your partner!"

"He's an Aerial! He can catch up!" Hot Rod shot back making Powerglide groan in frustration. "Frag it! Silverbolt! Catch up with your slagging partner!"

The 'bot who had been flying at a good pace heard his teacher's order and so mentally nodded and sped up, doing as he said. Now he was above his partner, keeping a close eye on him to make sure he was doing okay.

"I'm upping the level now!" Powerglide called to his students as he hit another control and made the obstacles suddenly start moving in and out, up and down, causing quite a challenge for both Terrestrial and Aerial 'bot alike.

"Whoa!" Jazz gasped, almost running right into a smashing obstacle.

"You okay there?" His Aerial partner called from above.

"Yeah, you just watch out for your obstacles up there!" Jazz warned his saucer friend who took that as a note and dodged the flying objects that were shooting out in each direction from the walls of the training stadium.

"Not bad, not bad," Powerglide nodded, noticing how all his students were doing quite a good job through this coarse.

His blue optics then caught sight of Hot Rod and Silverbolt; the two were doing good . . . if you wanted to count that on their own. They weren't even giving each other heads up on oncoming obstacles, just dodging them by themselves. That was no team—but who was the main cause for this problem? Was it Hot Rod's stubbornness and prejudice against Aerials or was it Silverbolt's fear of the threatening 'bot? Surely now Hot Rod had come to become top of his class, even intimidating the Aerials to some extent . . . but Silverbolt was the fastest out of all of them and shouldn't be acting so timid.

"Watch each other's backs you hear? !" Powerglide called to the two who heard . . . it was just if they'd listen was all.

Hot Rod was doing exceptionally well with dodging all the obstacles, Silverbolt could see this and so he didn't speak much to him about oncoming objects, knowing he'd see them and so dodge them. He was skilled in that . . . plus he knew Hot Rod wouldn't want to be bothered by his comments and so he remained silent. He'd just keep his mind to his own challenges that faced off against him.

With a gasp Silverbolt managed to dodge a particularly large object that flung his way, but he wasn't as small as most of the Aerials and so managed to skid his wing against the wall. He hissed to himself but managed to maintain control over his flight. He looked down and watched Hot Rod; it looked like even he was having trouble dodging some obstacles he watched as small spiked balls flung at him, causing him to sway and skid—right into a ramming obstacle!

"Hot Rod look out!" Silverbolt shouted as he dove in sharply and knocked the Terrestrial out of the way . . . this was a team job . . . to watch the other's back and so he did, even if he had gotten hurt because of it.

"The pit Silverbolt? !" Hot Rod growled, after he had finished twirling he transformed and watched the Aerial get slammed against the wall by one of the moving objects.

Hot Rod's optics brightened and he gasped, watching his partner go down like that. He knew this was a team test, but he figured that he could be won without having to actually act like a team . . . none of them would have gotten hurt. His very form stopped as he watched Silverbolt's form fall to the side of the wall, him slowly transform back into his robot mode and lay there . . . his joints sparking and groaning.

Hot Rod noticed the shadow come over Silverbolt and it was then he noticed it was a moving obstacle that was about ready to come upon him and crush him.

"Silverbolt MOVE!" Hot Rod cried, trying to warn the 'bot to get out of the way 'less he risk serious injury.

Silverbolt only looked at him with faint opticals and smiled apologetically as if he was apologizing for failing his partner. Silverbolt couldn't move and Hot Rod almost saw it too late. He bit his lip plating and skidded his wheels at the heels of his feet forward so fast that he managed to get there in time to push Silverbolt out of the way, only to have the weight fall upon him.

"Slag!" Powerglide gasped, his opticals brightening at the sight of this—no one had ever gotten hurt like that in millennia and he hadn't thought it'd ever happen again.

Quickly shutting the coarse down Powerglide ran over to where the two downed teens lay, the others quickly following their teacher and looking to see what happened.

"What happened?" Tracks asked just as he and his partner crossed the finish line first only to halt and see everyone running towards something behind them . . . even Hot Rod's guards who had been watching from afar were darting towards the scene.

"Slag! Silverbolt!" Slingshot cried as he darted after the others.

"Hot Rod!" Jazz cried out, coming towards his downed friend first, but was quickly pushed aside by the teacher as he came and knelt down to him.

"Slag it what did you do Hot Rod? !" Powerglide groaned as he pushed the halted obstacle off the smashed 'bot and then pulled him out.

"You said . . . to watch each other's backs," Hot Rod groaned out, holding onto his abdomen, his back and torso had gotten crushed the most.

"Slag," Powerglide groaned out again, his optics scanning over the two's condition, especially Hot Rod's.

"You . . . didn't have to do this . . . for me . . . Hot Rod," Silverbolt spoke up from where he lay near, holding onto his sparking joints.

"Shut up before I regret doing this for you, you ungrateful Aerial," Hot Rod groaned out as Powerglide ordered Hot Rod's guards to gently roll him onto his back.

"Frag he's taken quite an impact," Powerglide said, concern in his tone as he looked over Hot Rod's frame and then turning towards Silverbolt who had taken quite some damage from an obstacle meant solely for Terrestrial 'bots so it was harder hitting. "These two are going to need to go to med-bay. Someone call Firstaid and their creators!"

* * *

"Alright, all done," Skyfire said with a smile as he unattached the wires from Hot Shot's mainframe. "You've been a good boy again today."

"Then can I have an Energon goodie?" Hot Shot asked sweetly, kicking his legs back and forth from where he sat on the counter, trying to hold up his visor to look at the scientist.

"Ha, ha, no Hot Shot," Optimus chuckled. "I already gave you one today. I'm trying to cut back to one Energon goodie a day for you."

"Awww," Hot Shot groaned as he crossed his arms, but as soon as he took his hand away from his visor it snapped over his face.

"Heh, heh, that oversized visor is cute," Skyfire chuckled. "It never gets old."

"Ratchet said he'd upgrade into so . . ." Optimus only rolled his shoulder rotators and smiled.

"Oh, excuse me for a moment sir," Skyfire said once he had gotten a signal from the academy.

He turned around and took it. Optimus let him be and so took Hot Shot into his arms, helping the little sparkling lift up his visor and get it to stay still for a moment, that is before he heard Skyfire's tone rise.

"What? ! . . . Slag! I'll be there in a nanoclick!"

Optimus was about to ask what was wrong when he suddenly got a signal from the academy himself and as he took it his optics brightened at the news.

"What? !" he asked. "Is—Is he alright? ! . . . Alright, alright I'll be right over!"

Optimus wasted no time in heading over to the academy. Instead of taking a carrier there he thought it faster to just transform. Hot Shot was still small enough so he could fit inside him as he drove towards the Autobot academy where he had received news of Hot Rod getting injured in an accident.

Optimus could see the worry in Hot Shot's optics, but had no time to explain things to him. He placed the sparkling on his hip and immediately rushed towards the med-bay. Once inside he was met with Firstaid and an assistant of his, Red Alert was his name.

"Optimus sir," Firstaid came up to him and inclined his head towards him.

"Where's Hot Rod?" Optimus asked, the worry in his voice was easily carried over to the sparkling that was clinging tightly to him.

"Rody? What's wrong with my brother?" Hot Shot asked, the fear was evident in his voice as he clung even tighter to the Prime in fear and worry.

"Hush, hush, Hot Shot, don't worry, everything's going to be fine," Optimus said as he bounced the little one slightly before turning his attention back towards the head of the medical class at the academy.

"He's received damage to his torso, some internal interiors were damaged, but I managed to patch him up just fine," Firstaid gave the worrying caretaker a soft smile.

"How did that happen? !" Optimus asked, wanting to know everything.

"Optimus!" Powerglide came up to the commander. "I'm so sorry, it was all my fault."

"Just—tell me what happened," Optimus raised his hand to calm the situation down, even attempting to calm himself down.

"I paired Hot Rod up with Silverbolt to test out their teamwork and . . . well . . . things went wrong," Powerglide said as he turned his gaze towards the two 'bots who were now lying in the medical berths recovering.

"Rody!" Hot Shot cried out as he jumped out of Optimus' hands and ran towards his big brother. "Are you okay?"

"Hey Shoty," Hot Rod managed to sit up, even against Firstaid's assistant's inform not to. "Didn't expect to see you so soon."

"What, what happened?" Hot Shot asked, Hot Rod could see the fear and worry in his brother's optics and so sighed.

"It's nothing Shoty," Hot Rod said, smiling at his little brother as he gently rubbed the sides of his sparkling brother's round face plating.

"Hot Rod you need to lye down," Red Alert came up to him with data stats and tried to push him back onto the berth, but Hot Rod only flicked him away.

"I'm comforting my little brother!" Hot Rod snapped at the medical officer in training before he took Hot Shot up and then stood up and made his way towards the other 'bot laying in a berth beside him. "Him right there . . . he's the reason why your big brother's in this condition."

Silverbolt looked up at Hot Rod's little brother. He had never seen him before until now, but he had heard of him and now he could tell how innocent the child was and why Hot Rod was always so protective over him . . . he was so young.

"Frag it Silverbolt you need to be more careful when flying," Skyfire sighed out, watching his sparkling laying in a medical bay was never good on his censoring nerves. "What happened to your fear of heights?"

"I got out of that stage father," Silverbolt managed a small chuckle up at his large Father-Creator who was standing next to his brothers and Mother-Creator, all looking at him with concern.

"Sometimes I wish you hadn't," Skyfire said with a small smile and shake of his head.

"Did he hurt you?" Hot Shot asked, turning to Hot Rod.

"No . . . I hurt myself," Hot Rod said, looking at Silverbolt and then his little brother. "And him . . ."

"But you said—" Hot Shot started, he was confused as to what his brother was trying to tell him.

"Teacher said to act as a team and I didn't want to," Hot Rod said, his gaze in no direction in particular. "So Silverbolt here—who was following Teacher's orders watched out for me and so got hurt . . . then, when what Teacher said finally sunk into me I got hurt trying to repay what Silverbolt did for me."

"Oooohhh, I get it," Hot Shot said with a nod, his mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "But you won't hurt yourself again will you?"

"No," Hot Rod said, rubbing his young brother's head. "I can't make you and Prime worry so much now can I?"

Optimus smiled softly at that remark. It was quite nice, what Hot Rod said. At least he was caring about his worry just as much as he was his little brother's. It was nice to know he was on Hot Rod's mind sometimes.

"Especially my partner," Hot Rod said, turning to Silverbolt who was looking at him as if he couldn't believe he said those words. "I'm sorry for getting you hurt Silverbolt. I didn't mean to be so prejudice against Aerials."

"It's alright," Silverbolt said, taking Hot Rod's extended hand in his own and firmly shaking it. "You are new here after all."

Hot Rod smiled before Red Alert's nagging finally got to him and he was forced to lay back down, but of course Hot Shot was allowed to lay next to his brother and keep him company.

"Thank-you for taking care of them," Optimus said, coming up to Firstaid.

"That's my job here," Firstaid said with a smile. "Though," at that he placed his fists on his hips and looked down at the two youths. "I would like the two of you to at least know the basic medical procedures to know how to stop the sparking when injured, which the two of you did _not_ know how to do."

The two injured teens only chuckled lightly, before looking at the other and laughing. Neither of them had liked the med class in the first place.

_Hhhah, at least Hot Rod's making other friends than the orphans he already knew . . . and he's learning to listen to his teachers_, Optimus mentally noted as he looked at Powerglide who was smiling quite proud of the two mechs.

"Well," Powerglide spoke up, gaining the two youth's attention. "Even though the two of you didn't make it through the coarse I'd say you passed with flying colors."

"Really?" Silverbolt lifted his head, a wide smile on his face.

"Yeah . . . taking injuries for your partner is definitely something worth calling a team," Powerglide said with a nod and soft unseen proud smile.


	7. Rechargeover

**Hot Shot's girl: Sorry I couldn't update in forever but I was REAL busy during December and then, early in January, my dad had told me he signed me up to some publishing company and now I have to write a book . . . a REAL book! o.O I'm nervous, but excited at the same time so I've been focusing a lot on it. So my stories will come and go, can't promise on quick updates. Well, wish me luck and enjoy! ;D**

"I can't believe it's been a century already," Jazz let out a sigh, placing his chin down on the table where he and his friends sat at for their lunching.

"I know," Blaster moaned out, following Jazz's lead. "At this school too."

"It seems like the decades are going by so slow," Tracks groaned out, his face already on the table, staring up into the ceiling lighting.

"For some strange reason . . . I feel sorry for you two—Tracks and Hot Rod," Jazz spoke up, his gaze off somewhere else as he addressed his two friends.

"What?" Hot Rod chuckled up. "And you're talking about us having to be with families?"

"Yep," Jazz rose his index finger to show his point. "Being a century away from us must be hard," at that Jazz lifted his head and gazed at Hot Rod, the only one who hadn't laid his head on their lunching table.

"What are you talking about?" Hot Rod chuckled. "We see you guys every day."

"Yes, but not 24/7," Blaster spoke up.

"Yeah," Jazz nodded. "You guys must be awful lonely."

"Not so much," Hot Rod admitted with a roll of his shoulder rotators.

"That's because you have Shoty to keep you company," Jazz pointed out. "What about you Tracks? How are you fairing with your _siblings_?"

"Well," Tracks got up, adding sarcastically giddy. "Now that you ask—Big _brother_ doesn't seem to want to be anywhere near me, and little _sister_ won't stop making advances on me. She's starting to scare me into thinking I should run away!"

"Why don't you?" Blaster asked, looking at the blue mech. "Our dorm still has room for one more 'bot."

"I know," Tracks said, bowing his head with a sigh. "But I just can't leave . . . the family has been actually taking really good care of me. I can't do that to them."

"Hhhuh, great—you're turning into Hot Rod here," Jazz groaned out, pointing towards the red mech.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hot Rod asked, his optics darkening their glow as he gazed at the silver 'bot.

"You know what I mean," Jazz said, placing his chin in the palm of his black hand. "You're starting to like it over there at Prime's. You haven't even _tried_ to run away. Face it . . . you like the mech."

"I do not!" Hot Rod groaned, crossing his arms and sticking his nostril plating in the air, even shutting his optics off for a moment to blind out the world.

"You haven't been complaining lately," Blaster pointed, looking at the red and orange 'bot. "Not even about that continual guard that was set upon you."

"If they don't bother me I don't bother them, that's my rule," Hot Rod said, looking at his friends.

"Since when was that a rule of Hot Rod's?" Jazz asked raising a mental brow. "You weren't like that back when we were the forgotten children of Cybertron."

"Times change alright," Hot Rod sighed out, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand. "Plus . . . whatever makes Hot Shot happy makes me happy."

"Even Prime?" Tracks asked, recalling the great dislike Hot Rod had for the Autobot commander.

Hot Rod only sighed out a groan, the grumble in his throat tubings telling his friends to knock off the questions and so they did and finished their refueling meal.

"Well that was a good refueling," Blaster sighed happily, patting his abdomen plating. "That's one thing I like about this academy—the good food."

"Yeah, it's not bad now is it?" Hot Rod said, a small smile on his lips.

"Does Prime cook?" Jazz asked. "Do you enjoy his food?"

"That old 'bot—cook?" Hot Rod blinked before throwing his head back and bursting out in a loud laughter. "Yeah! You should see his cooking! It's the best! HA!"

"Why do I feel like there's a hint of sarcasm in his voice modules?" Tracks asked, softening the glow in his optics as he looked towards his other two friends who only shrugged and shook their heads.

"No he can't cook," Hot Rod grumbled, letting his elbow rotators rest on top the table. "He has it all ordered in. He's either too busy or he was just birthed with a platinum feeder in his mouth."

"That could be it," Jazz chuckled with the others. "But—do you know how _long_ you'll be staying with him?"

"He doesn't tell me anything," Hot Rod said, shaking his head. "I can't say."

"What do you think will happen when the time comes . . . and you and Hot Shot have to be separated?" Jazz asked, his tone serious, he wanted to make sure Hot Rod didn't forget about that time.

"I honestly don't want to think about it," Hot Rod admitted, his gaze glancing at the other 'bots lunching. "But I know I have to. I don't know though . . . but I can't have the system separate Hot Shot from me . . . I'm the only family he has left."

There was a silence now—between Hot Rod and his friends . . . that is until their next class was signaled in.

"Ugh, the dreaded medical class," Blaster gave out a groan, flopping his head down.

"Hey, at least you have a passing grade, look at us," Tracks said, nudging the red boombox on the shoulder as they got up and headed towards their designated classes.

* * *

"Hot Shot . . . what are you doing?" Optimus raised his brow, coming into the living room to find the little sparkling sitting down, gazing out a the door before him.

"Waiting for Rody to come home," the sweet little mech replied with a very cute smile, glancing back towards the older mech.

_He calls this his home . . . how very nice of him_, Optimus thought with soft smile.

"Well he doesn't get home until later," Optimus said, coming up to the little youngling, picking him up and coming to sit on the couch.

"Awww, why do older 'bots get to stay out so long?" Hot Shot pouted, crossing his tiny arms, but then his visor came clamping down on his face and he quickly scrambled to get it off. "I hate this thing."

"You'll upgrade into it," Optimus said, taking the black visor and pushing it as far back on the little one's head as he could.

"When will I get to go where Hot Rod is going too?" Hot Shot asked, looking up at Optimus with soft blue opticals.

"When you're old enough," Optimus replied, patting the little one on the back softly.

"But when?" Hot Shot asked, coming to stand up in Optimus' lap and place his little hands on his broad chest, tapping him to get his attention.

"When you're around 10 millennia," Optimus answered, looking down at the wondering sparkling.

"That's . . . eh . . ." Hot Shot held up his dark fingers and tried to count, as the others called it, but he was never gifted with such talent.

"You're 5 millennia now Hot Shot," Optimus said, taking one of his hands. "Hold up five fingers."

Hot Shot smiled and showed his held up hand to the Prime. Optimus chuckled before taking his small hand in his and showing it to him.

"Alright, each finger is a one and there are five, when you're 10 millennia, what is that?"

Hot Shot looked at his fingers for a moment before lifting up another on his other hand, and then another, and another before all of his tiny little fingers were raised.

"This much?" He asked, holding them up to Optimus' face.

"Yes Hot Shot, good for you," Optimus said, shining a fond golden light on Hot Shot from the soft glow of his optics.

"I'll be 10 millennia," Hot Shot said with a sure nod, leaning against Optimus' chest, continuing to gaze at his fingers.

Hot Shot then placed an index finger on his chin in thought before his head turned towards the Prime.

"Did you go to the academy?"

"Yes, I did," Optimus nodded.

"Do you still?" Hot Shot asked.

"No, no, I'm well passed those millenniums," Optimus chuckled at the younger's curiosity.

"How old are you?" Hot Shot asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm 31 millennia Hot Shot," Optimus answered.

"That's old," Hot Shot said, crinkling his nostril plating.

"I dare say not!" Optimus defended himself, his age, and age group. "I'm still quite young compared to other Transformers."

"But not me," Hot Shot said, crossing his arms, Optimus only let out a sigh—knowing the boy was right . . . when he was that age he had thought everyone in the world was old.

"Hhh, not you Hot Shot, not you," Optimus sighed out, patting the little one's head.

"Hey, aren't you a cammandoor or something?" Hot Shot asked.

"Commander," Optimus corrected the sparkling. "Yes, what of it?"

"Do you command armies?" Hot Shot asked.

"I do," Optimus nodded.

"Then how come you're not doing it now?" Hot Shot asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Because I'm here with you," Optimus simply replied with a slight shrug.

"Why do you have to be with me all the time?" Hot Shot asked.

"So I can protect you," Optimus said. "I wouldn't want those bad Transformers to return and hurt you like they tried to do."

"Oh . . . those Transformers," Hot Shot nodded, remembering them that had tried to hurt him and his brother.

"That's right," Optimus nodded. "There are more out there waiting to come and hurt you."

"Like those Transformers we first met when we came here?" Hot Shot asked.

"Transformers you first met when you ca—?" Optimus suddenly got it and threw his head back in laughter, Hot Shot wasn't the first to call those 'bots bad . . . but then again he was the youngest. "Ha, ha! Oh how the innocent see things. Well no, those aren't the ones I was talking about, but it's close."

"Oh," Hot Shot nodded, his lips forming a perfect 'o'.

"Well," Optimus slapped his knees and stood up, Hot Shot sliding off his lap and onto the couch. "It's time for your appointment with Skyfire. Shall we go?"

"Yeah!" Hot Shot nodded a couple times before reaching out to Optimus for him to take hold of.

Optimus smiled once more before he bent down and picked up the little sparkling. Holding him close to his chest Optimus shook his head and inwardly sighed.

_Never thought I'd have to be doing this again_, he mentally told himself as he and the youngling headed out.

* * *

"How would you mechs feel about a rechargeover?"

"What?" Jazz asked, his visor darkening before brightening again. "Did I hear you right?"

"I know for a _fact_ your audio receivers are fine Jazz," Hot Rod said, placing his fists on his hips. "So please answer the question."

"Is it a question or is it a command to come over and trash Prime's place in a show of your rebellion?" Tracks asked, holding up his index finger.

"Is that really the way you guys always see me?" Hot Rod asked, raising a metallic brow and placing a hand on his torso.

"Yes," all three answered in unison.

"Man . . . some friends you are," Hot Rod let out a sigh, but brushed off their answer. "I'm serious though. How would you guys like it? Like old times."

"Um . . . old times was when we lived by ourselves with our own caves in fallen buildings and such," Jazz replied. "Now though . . . we either live with families or in dorms."

"The difference?" Hot Rod asked, tapping the toe of his foot and crossing his arms with a heavy sigh.

"Permission," Tracks responded. "I'm not sure about my family or even the academy regulations when it comes to a 'rechargeover'."

"Simple, just tell your family, Tracks, that you're going to be spending the night cycle at Optimus Prime's house. They're Nobles so I'm sure they'll want their son to get to know the 'amazing' Prime. And the same goes for Jazz and Blaster. I'm sure as long as you tell them you'll be at Prime's it'll be fine," Hot Rod replied.

"I still don't know," Blaster muttered. "Sure it's Prime's place, but . . . is it alright for us to come over?"

"Of course it's alright," Hot Rod said, slamming his hands down on the table they sat at while on a break, enjoying the outside weather.

"Why do I get this feeling you never asked the big 'bot?" Jazz asked, his face looking unconvinced in Hot Rod's displays.

"Hhh, just come over guys," Hot Rod groaned, deliberately trying to avoid the subject of having 'not' asked Prime for permission—the 'bot was so soft as it was Hot Rod knew he could practically get away with anything! "That home is too big for just the three of us. At least try to fill it for a night."

"Well . . ." Jazz sighed out.

"Um . . ." Tracks began to scratch his cheek plating.

"We'd have to . . . the academy . . ." Blaster went on in broken sentences.

"Hhh, I'll expect you guys at the carrier," Hot Rod pulled out a smile and smacked them all on the back as he turned and ran off.

"Uh . . . now where in the pit can he be going?" Jazz asked quizzically.

Looking back at Tracks and Blaster who only rolled their shoulder rotators.

* * *

"Well . . . he's coming along quite nicely Prime," Skyfire nodded after straightening and turning to his cadets to hand them the transferred data to decipher and process. "A few more centuries and that should do it for him."

"That short?" Optimus asked, looking up at the large aerial as if there was disappointment in his words—even features.

Skyfire chuckled slightly, but shook his head. Placing his fists on his hips he sighed out saying—

"I knew this would happen . . . Primus . . . Well I'd say, give or take, 5, maybe 7 centuries. A little under a millennia."

"How time . . . flies," Optimus replied, Skyfire noticing the drop in the Autobot commander's shoulders and soft dread in his tone.

"You know . . ." Skyfire spoke up, turning towards the computers to randomly type in signals, just to keep himself occupied with something without having to look at the Prime. "You could just adopt them . . . if you're going to miss them."

"What?" Optimus asked, his golden optics brightening slightly . . . that was yet another Transformer telling him to adopt—was it really that obvious about his attachment to the sparklings? Especially Hot Shot.

"I'm just saying," Skyfire replied with a roll of his shoulder plates. "It seems like you'll become sparkbroken if they're taken from you."

"I . . ." Optimus turned his gaze to watch Hot Shot happily munching down on an energon-goodie so he looked back at Skyfire and lowered his vocals, just in case the youngling was paying attention to their conversation. "I already promised the High Council I'd hand them over the orphan program. They'll take a good care of them when the time comes."

"I don't think that's such a good idea Prime," Skyfire shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as if the Autobot commander had no idea what he was getting himself into.

"And why not?" Optimus asked, narrowing his optics as he crossed his arms, who did this Transformer think he was? Telling the Autobot commander what was good and what was bad.

"Hhh, because," Skyfire rubbed his face plating before turning back towards the glaring Prime. "I can't see you watching on happily as another family, another father-creator, holds little Hot Shot there." At that Skyfire flicked his head towards Hot Shot who was sitting down now finished with his energon-goodie, smiling away, kicking his little legs back and forth.

Optimus let his arms fall back to his sides as he turned to gaze at Hot Shot who was now humming to himself, waiting on the elders to finish their speaking and go home. He hadn't thought Skyfire would put it so bluntly, but he did . . . and by Primus he was right.

Shutting off his optics for a little while Optimus inclined his head and let out a hard sigh. Skyfire was right. In such a short amount of time he had groan so attached to the little one—heck, he even cared so much about Hot Rod that he couldn't even see him with another family. Was he selfish for thinking this? Was he wrong for thinking this when . . . when he had promised to never be happy again if he . . . Elita . . . and . . .

"What are you going to do Optimus?" Skyfire spoke up, his tone serious, he could tell what his commander, his leader, was thinking and knew how hard it was for even him to come to terms with his own desires—now matter how much he denied them. "Sit by idly and watch Hot Shot there, even his brother, Hot Rod was it? Get taken and placed in the care of some other family. Primus they'll probably just throw Hot Rod into the dorms of the academy, and separate him and his brother with another family wanting only younger sparklings."

Skyfire scanned Optimus' behavior and only saw his struggles. Optimus' hand that was resting on a counter was trembling, nearly bending the metal plating with the might was putting into his fingers. He was getting upset . . . just by thinking of it.

"You have time to think about it," Skyfire replied, turning back to his business. "A few centuries—give or take. Well . . . see ya later Prime. And you too Hot Shot."

"'Kay, bye Skyfiuhr," Hot Shot waved before standing up on the counter and raising his hands to Optimus to pick him up.

Optimus stood there for a moment, still deep in thought, before coming up to Hot Shot and picking him up in his arms slowly, almost numbly. As he glanced back at Skyfire he nodded and said his farewell, but Skyfire could still see it in his opticals . . . the decision he'd have to make sooner or later.

So the ride home was quiet and it discomforted Hot Shot quite a bit. So much that he wouldn't stop wriggling in his seat. The uneasiness in the air was evident and Hot Shot could feel it like a heavy metallic wall.

"Calm down Hot Shot, we're almost home," Optimus said, turning over and patting Hot Shot gently on his knee rotator.

Hot Shot had jumped at his touch and confused the commander some before he realized he was the one making the little sparkling uneasy. He smiled softly before nodding. He'd best start talking then to make the boy more comfortable.

"So . . . Hot Shot you're brother should be back soon," Optimus replied. "He'll probably be there when we reach home."

"Really?" Hot Shot asked, his tone softer than normal, apparently he still felt the uneasiness and it was taking him some getting used to to settle down from it.

"Yes," Optimus nodded, wishing he hadn't upset the boy's usual behavior like so. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. Won't you be happy to see him?"

"Of course!" Hot Shot chirped, now jumping in his seat for the anticipation of returning home to see his big brother.

_There you go_, Optimus smiled inwardly, glad Hot Shot was acting more like himself.

Out of the window of the carrier Optimus watched the skies darken. Yep, it'd be about time for Hot Rod to get back and then he'd start up dinner—er—or order it. The teen 'bot didn't seem too fond of his cooking . . . as a matter of fact . . . neither did Hot Shot—or himself for that matter.

_Hhh, I'm no mother-creator_, Optimus groaned inwardly, wishing he had at least picked up something from Elita 1 that he could call cooking—refueling out all the time probably wasn't as healthy as he liked for the two boys. _I wish you were here Elita . . . you'd know how to handle them . . . you always did._

With that thought in mind he turned his gaze towards Hot Shot who was now busy twisting his in seat to look out the window to his left, but failing miserably. Optimus smiled once more before bringing his large hand to set Hot Shot down in his seat neatly, gesturing him to sit still and wait. Hot Shot only looked up at him with those protoform-blue optics that Optimus had come to love. With a cross of his small arms Hot Shot slumped in his seat and waited like he was told.

Optimus chuckled inwardly knowing Hot Shot had that same rebellious streak in him like his brother. Hhh, Primus help him when those two were in their teens at once. He didn't know how he'd handle them.

Wait . . .

He'd never . . . see that . . . now would he? If they were gone . . . before he ever got the chance to.

Letting out another hard sigh Optimus offlined his optics and tried to shut that thought out of his main processor, but it seemed to always ghost itself in whatever he was thinking of. Whether the project, his comrades, or what to refuel with when dinner came. It was always there meaning he needed to solve this matter soon.

Very soon.

"We stopped! We stopped! We stopped!" Hot Shot was nearly bouncing right out of his buckling and off his seat.

Optimus chuckled and came up to the little one.

"Just hold your turbo jets little one. You'll be out soon enough," Optimus replied, unbuckling Hot Shot and the moment he did so the little one raced out of the carrier straight for home.

Optimus sighed out but shook his head before following. He came up to the front door just when the two guards standing guard out front had let the little bouncing one inside so he could look for his brother. Optimus nodded to the two and thanked them yet again for protecting Hot Rod while he was at school.

Entering inside Optimus smiled lightly to find Hot Shot now bouncing on a red and orange groaning 'bot who had been napping on the couch. He quietly made his way over towards the kitchen so not to disturb their moment—Primus knows he always did—according to Hot Rod.

"Ow! Hot Shot stop!" Hot Rod groaned, instantly coming out of his light recharge as his little brother bounced on top of his abdomen, knocking the wind right out of him.

"I'm so happy you're home!" Hot Shot giggled, wrapping his arms around his brother the best he could. "I was lonely without you here today."

"Lonely?" Hot Rod sat up and blinked. "I thought Optimus was here with you."

"He was, but I still miss you!" Hot Shot exclaimed, once again throwing himself at his brother's torso and nearly making him cough up something ugly.

"Yeah? I do too Shoty," Hot Rod smiled, patting his brother's head affectionately before glancing around the room as if scanning for the Prime—daring him to show his face.

"Why do you always look like that when looking for Optimus?" Hot Shot asked, his wide bright opticals looking up at his brother curiously.

"Huh?" Hot Rod looked down at his brother with confusion before Hot Shot sat himself up in Hot Rod's lap and scrunched his face up to look almost similar to a mock scowl.

"Like this," Hot Shot said. "Why do you look like that?"

"Oh . . . no reason," Hot Rod said, glancing away from his innocent brother for a moment. "Hey," Hot Rod's tone lowered to a mere whisper as he leaned his head down towards Hot Shot with a mischievous grin. "Shoty, guess who's coming over tonight."

"Someone's coming over?" Hot Shot asked with a blink.

"Yeah, but don't tell Prime 'til they're here 'kay?" Hot Rod said, placing his index finger on his little brother's lips.

"Who, who, who? !" Hot Shot was now bouncing in Hot Rod's lap yet again.

"Take it easy," Hot Rod groaned at Hot Shot's hard bounces. "I'm a mech remember."

"Oh," Hot Shot glanced down to Hot Rod's crotch plating and remembered his brother telling him how femmes and mechs differed in 'sensitive' areas. "Sorry."

"Okay so you'll be seeing Jazz, Tracks, and Blaster over here soon," Hot Rod smiled, now watching Hot Shot's optics brighten so bright the darkened living room was brightening to a whole new extent.

"Really? !" Hot Shot squealed, but Hot Rod quickly covered his mouth, continuing to scan around for any Prime that may creep in at such times.

"Shh! You can't say anything to Prime yet okay," Hot Rod warned.

"Why?" Hot Shot asked, he was so excited he wanted to go and tell Prime.

"I don't know how he'll react," Hot Rod replied, letting his hand drop from his brother's mouth.

"Ooohhh, are you doing something bad again Hot Rod?" Hot Shot asked, he looked concerned for his brother now, silently pleading for him to be good—because Optimus had been good to them.

"No," Hot Rod replied quickly. "I don't think I am . . . just . . . don't tell him yet, alright."

"Okay," Hot Shot replied, looking rather down as he hopped off the couch and made his way towards his room.

"Thataboy Hot Shot," Hot Rod smiled softly before laying back down for a small recharge—after all . . . he was going to be staying up all night with his friends and he needed his energon reserves to their fullest.

* * *

"Hello?" Optimus answered the incoming call as he sat down at his desk, ready to pack up his things and head into work. "Oh, Jetfire—how are things going? I'll be heading over soon."

_They're going good sir_, Jetfire replied from the other end of the com-link. _In fact, so good with the Decepticons keeping out of Autobot business and territory that you can take this shift off._

"Really?" Optimus asked, slightly surprised. "Are you sure? Have you looked at the reports from—?"

Yes, yes, we have. Don't worry about it Prime. We got everything under control. So why don't you enjoy your time off with some R&R with your boys.

Optimus chuckled inwardly at that. 'His boys' . . . that had a nice ring to it if he didn't say so himself. Smiling Optimus nodded and spoke back into the link.

"Alright, since everything's holding up on your end Jetfire I think I may take you up on that offer."

Alright sir, have fun with bonding with those little guys. Jetfire, out.

Optimus shut the com-link before noticing something standing in the door to his office. He noticed it was Hot Shot was looking at him and waiting to be allowed in. The boy could hear him speaking to someone and usually when he was on the com-link that meant he was busy with work so Hot Shot would wait until he was done like a good little mech.

"Come in Hot Shot," Optimus gestured the boy to come to him and after patting his thighs Hot Shot got the picture with a nod and came and hopped in the commander's lap. "Now . . . what is it you want little one?"

"Lonely," Hot Shot simply replied with a roll of his shoulder rotators.

"What about Hot Rod?" Optimus asked, it was strange to hear Hot Shot say such a word, especially when he had Hot Rod in the next room.

"He's recharging," Hot Shot said, the sound in his voice almost like a whine.

"Maybe he had a long day at school," Optimus suggested, but Hot Shot only 'hmphed'—the little one was bored.

"Well . . ." Optimus tried to think of something to reoccupy the little one with, but couldn't exactly think of something that a sparkling would enjoy. "Do you . . . want to help pick out the fuel we'll be ordering?"

"Sure!" Hot Shot squealed, jumping up on Optimus' lap to lean over his desk and wait for Optimus to suggest the stores to order from.

"Alright," Optimus opened up the files and showed them to Hot Shot. "How about this one? You and your brother liked the energon from there didn't you?"

"Yeah, but how 'bout something new?" Hot Shot asked, looking at the list of stores.

"Something new huh?" Optimus scanned through the list and about spoke to the little sparkling about one before the doorbell rung and both turned their attention towards the hallway that led to the living room—that led to the front door.

Getting up Optimus left Hot Shot there, keeping his opticals locked on the direction of the front door.

"Now who could that be? I'm not expecting anyone."

"Uh!" Hot Shot suddenly gasped and hopped off Optimus' desk to his chair to the ground and chased after the fast pacing Autobot leader. "W-Wait!"

Optimus nearly reached the door before Hot Rod had suddenly onlined from his recharge and charged to the door, quickly cutting in front of the Prime to open it.

"Uh," Optimus didn't like how Hot Rod just suddenly cut him off like that; it was quite rude, Optimus mentally marking down a time when he'd have to teach the boy some manners.

"Hey!" Hot Rod opened the door to reveal three young 'bots about his age. "Guys you made it!"

"Had to get my stuff," Tracks replied, holding up his belongings.

"Same here," Blaster said, doing the same.

"And permission to leave the dorms," Jazz added.

"It's a holiday tomorrow," Hot Rod waved it off as he motioned the three to come in. "Why wouldn't they let you leave?"

"W-What's this?" Optimus asked, watching Hot Rod usher in his friends, without so much of a word as to what is going on.

"Oh, these are my friends, Jazz, Tracks, and Blaster," Hot Rod replied, looking quite calm even though Optimus was certainly confused as to what was happening at the moment and why the three were over.

"Hhh, man I knew this would happen," Jazz groaned. "So you _didn't_ ask if we could come over huh Hot Rod? . . ."

"Well," Hot Rod turned to his friends, scratching the back of his helmet with a light laugh. "I'm sure he won't mind. He never does."

"Hot Rod . . . come to my office, we need to talk," Optimus replied sternly as he turned and marched off.

"Great . . . now you're in for it," Jazz pointed. "We tried to warn you, but _no_."

"Hhh, just shut up guys!" Hot Rod groaned before walking back towards Optimus' office while his three friends waited.

"Hey guys!" Hot Shot suddenly popped himself up and lunged himself at his three old friends.

"Hey buddy!" Jazz, Tracks, and Blaster smiled seeing the little guy's face. "How are you doing? We haven't seen you in a while."

* * *

"Hhh, what?" Hot Rod groaned, coming in and standing in the doorway.

"That's what _sir_," Optimus corrected, the boy had been going to the Autobot Academy for over a century and still he had no manners? Something needed to be done about this.

"I get it already," Hot Rod spat out, his optics not meeting Optimus'. "So what do you want?"

"No, you need to learn respect and some manners Hot Rod," Optimus pointed at the teen. "You're not leaving until you comprehend this."

"Hhh, _sir_," Hot Rod reluctantly obeyed.

"A little less sarcasm would be better, but at least you said it," Optimus replied, leaning against his desk. "Now, what is going on exactly? How come I was uninformed about your friends arriving here until I saw it with my own sensors?"

Hot Rod groaned inwardly, he didn't like this situation at all. Since when did Optimus grow a spine? He used to be so passive and now here he was intimidating him like some old mech, it just wasn't right and Hot Rod didn't like him one bit. It made him feel . . . out of control.

"I . . . I wanted a rechargeover okay? !" Hot Rod groaned, crossing his arms, still not looking at Optimus. "Sir . . ."

"And why couldn't you have asked me?" Optimus asked, coming up closer to the young 'bot. "What's so hard with that?"

"Nothing I guess," Hot Rod mumbled it so low Optimus couldn't catch it.

"What was that son?" Optimus asked, straightening his frame to make sure Hot Rod knew he was dealing with an elder and demanded respect from him.

"I said nothing, alright!" Hot Rod said, his tone louder, now daring to look up at the larger Autobot commander.

"Settle your tone down son," Optimus replied, not liking it, but now glad the boy was looking at him in the optics. "Now I don't mind them staying the night, but please be sure to tell me next time alright? I don't like to be kept in the dark Hot Rod, this is my home and you'll recognize it as such."

"Whatever," Hot Rod sighed out, crossing his arms again and looking away.

Optimus also let out a sigh. Was he ever going to get through to this boy at all?

"Alright, you're dismissed," Optimus said, waving him to go off and join his friends. "I'll come out soon, just need to think a few things over."

Hot Rod didn't say anything as he turned and left. Optimus didn't expect him to so he let it go. Well . . . at least he succeeded in making Hot Rod a little more respectful to him . . . he hoped.

* * *

"Hey, look who just got chewed up and spat out," Jazz grinned from where he sat on the living room floor with Hot Shot and the others as they watched Hot Rod exit Optimus' office that lay down the hall.

"Shuddap," Hot Rod groaned, taking a pillow packet and throwing it at the black and white 'bot.

"So what's the deal Hot Rod?" Blaster spoke up, coming to stand up. "Do we have to leave now or what?"

"No, Optimus said you can stay," Hot Rod said.

"Really?" Hot Shot jumped up with a wide grin. "YAY!"

"Alright, so now what'll we do?" Jazz asked, him and Tracks coming to stand up. "Gonna give us a _tour_ of the Prime mansion? Heh."

"Why?" Hot Rod asked. "Nothing special about it. Just a bunch of rooms and stuff."

"Whatever man, you're no fun," Jazz waved.

"Hey, what about fuel? I'm famished," Tracks groaned, holding his abdomen. "I haven't refilled my energon reserves since lunching."

"I thought as much that you'd boys want to refuel."

Everyone turned to see Optimus coming into the living room and standing before them, towering over greatly—the Prime was quite big . . . just like the rumors.

Jazz, Tracks, and Blaster had seen him a few times, but never this close. They weren't kidding when they said Primes grew unnaturally tall.

"So, any ideas what you boys would like?" Optimus asked.

"Well," Jazz began, wondering how he should speak to the great Prime.

"Um . . ." Blaster was even at a loss for words when looking up at the noble Prime.

"I'd . . ." Tracks too couldn't speak too well.

Hot Rod rolled his optics at his friends display before the Prime—as if he was some intimidating form. They had no reason to act like this around him. Come on! It was Optimus Prime for the love of Primus!

"How about some energon saucers guys?" Hot Rod asked knowing that every teen loved those.

"Yeah! Sure," Jazz and the others nodded.

"Alright then . . . more unhealthy fuel it is," Optimus replied with a chuckle and shake of his head as he opened up the link to call, kids these days.

* * *

"So Optimus actually took your word for it and stayed home?" Scavenger came up to Jetfire as the two watched the scientists go about working on the project.

"Yes," Jetfire nodded, looking at the older Autobot. "Once I told him to enjoy himself with the boys he took it hook-line-and-sinker. I'm tellin' ya . . . he loves those boys to death."

"Yeah . . . but isn't that a problem?" Scavenger asked, raising a brow. "Getting attached to them I mean."

"Could be and it couldn't be," Jetfire replied with a nod. "It all depends on Prime now doesn't it?"

"Hhh . . . guess you're right," Scavenger hated to admit it, but he had no choice but to.

"So," Jetfire chuckled. "What kind of bonding do you think they're doing?"

"They're boys—what do you think?" Scavenger laughed, Jetfire knowing it was true.

* * *

"You want to play what?" Optimus asked, worry now written all over his features once Hot Rod's three friends suggested it.

"Truth or Dare," Blaster said. "It's a fun game that we youth like to play."

"Yeah, especially when you get to the _dares_," Tracks chuckled as he downed another energon saucer.

All were sitting on the living room floor just eating their energon saucers and it wasn't until Tracks mentioned they should play a game when Jazz replied with the perfect one for rechargeovers like this.

"Um," Optimus placed his unfinished energon saucer down in the carton it came with and stared at the teens. "I'm not too sure how this is played."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you're old," Blaster pointed, Optimus groaned out and face-palmed himself.

"Go easy on him Blaster," Hot Rod chided in. "He can't help it."

"Thank you for _defending_ me Hot Rod," Optimus groaned out, sarcasm even evident in his tone.

"Sure thing," Hot Rod chuckled, waving him off. "So it's a fairly simple game and all. When someone is asked what they want they choose either 'truth' or 'dare'. If 'truth' then they are asked a question like 'what color is your glossa?' and you have to answer with the truth, then when asked 'dare' the person asking sets out a dare that you have to follow. Simple as that."

"Uh . . . is that such a safe . . . game?" Optimus asked, not sure if he liked the sounds of it.

"So-so," Blaster chuckled, waving his hand up and down.

"Alright then! The tank is full! Let's get this game started!" Tracks exclaimed with a fist-pump.

"Wait, wait! You can't, not yet!" Hot Rod said, standing up.

"Why not?" Jazz asked.

"Does the wait have to do with the game?" Optimus asked, shifting his weight to the other leg that he was sitting on as he sat next to the others on the floor, little Hot Shot in his lap continuing to eat the rest of his second large energon saucer slice.

"No," Blaster said, looking at the big mech.

"Then why—?" Optimus was about to ask Hot Rod the question of why they had to wait, but the sudden sound of pounding on the roof stopped them all, each optical cast upwards. "Hot Rod . . . who else did you invite?"

"You'll see," Hot Rod grinned, a funny mech-ish grin that Optimus, himself, couldn't deny as the teen bounded to the door and quickly opened it to only glance upwards.

"Come on in guys!" he shouted as if to the skies, but as he backed inside everyone watched as a few forms came down and landed on the ground before coming inside, Optimus being fairly impressed that Hot Rod had actually invited other 'friends' besides the ones he's known all his life.

"Well whadyaknow," Jazz smiled. "The Aerial 'bots are here."

"I . . . hope we're not too late," Sliverbolt replied, looking shyly at the others. "We had to help our mother-creator with some restocking before heading over here."

"Naw, you're just on time, come in, come in. We're about to start a game of Truth or Dare!" Hot Rod said, motioning them all to come in and sit with the others.

"Alright!" Slingshot exclaimed as he hopped right next to Tracks and Blaster. "Haven't played this game in a while . . . oh . . . Optimus Prime, sir, are you playing?"

"Well . . ." Optimus glanced at the others awaiting his answer, he wondered if he should back out now before it was too late.

"Of course he is," Hot Rod exclaimed with a loud laugh as he smacked him on the back.

It was too late.

"'Kay," Hot Rod sat down and crossed his legs. "Who wants to go first?"

"Oh! Me, me, me, me!" Hot Shot exclaimed, raising his tiny hand.

"Hold on, let me go first," Optimus said, grabbing Hot Shot's small dark hand and placing it down.

There was a sudden silence that only made Optimus all the more uncomfortable with all those young optics staring at him like that—some disbelief—some mischievously—some in awe, etc.

"If he wants to, let him," Air Raid with a nod and grin. "He's Prime so he gets first pick."

Optimus took up Hot Shot and moved him out of his lap to his right. He didn't know if this game was going to get messy or not, but just in case. He'd make sure Hot Shot was out of harm's way.

"Alright, alright, I'll ask," Hot Rod spoke up, sitting down before the commander who awaited the question. "Truth . . . or Dare?"

Optimus was about to answer 'truth' of course, but paused. Everyone was watching him, waiting for his response and he knew that if he said 'truth' most would probably say that was something an old mech would say to get out of the youthful 'dares' so, feeling a bit gung-ho right now, he replied something everyone didn't think he would.

"Dare," Optimus answered, gasps were heard and it was clear the others weren't expecting that.

"Are you sure Optimus, sir?" Skydive asked.

"Ah, let 'im do it," Fireflight waved off.

"Alright then," Hot Rod let out a sigh before standing up and looking around, trying to think of what to make the Prime do . . . it had to be good.

_Great . . . what'd I get myself into?_ Optimus inwardly asked himself, the gung-ho feeling gone now that Hot Rod was the one choosing the dare.

"Okay," Hot Rod turned to the Prime with a grin before pointing up. "I _dare_ you to get up on the roof and exclaim that you're a femme."

"What? !" Optimus gasped, opticals wide and bright. "But I have neighbors and they'll hear the ridiculous—"

"A dare's a dare," Jazz sighed out, making sure Optimus knew he had no way out of this.

Optimus looked around at everyone's face and knew all were waiting for him to either cyber-chicken out or mech-up and do the dare. Offlining his optics he exhaled before onlining them and getting up to head upstairs, and climb out the highest window.

And just think, this all could have been avoided if he would have went to work today.

Optimus was nearly laughing himself crazy as he made his way to the roof of his home, the others running outside to gaze up at him and watch him do this, the aerials of course taking flight to be up close and see this.

Looking around Optimus noticed the other homes, not too far and not too close from his, but certainly if he exclaimed what he was about to exclaim they'd hear. Well, with the boys watching he couldn't escape this fate. Inhaling deeply Optimus threw his head back and boomed with a loud voice exclaiming—

"I AM OPTIMUS PRIME AND I'M A FEMMEEEEEEEE! ! ! !"

Optimus was too busy leveling his sensors after the loud exclamation to notice that the aerials had fallen to the ground with the rest of the others only to roll around laughing their afts off. Optimus, once glancing at them, only rolled his optics and crossed his arms.

"I hope you're happy," he said to them as he gazed down them all, heck even Hot Shot was laughing, if only to laugh with the others.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Hot Rod giggled, trying to level out his own sensors as he rubbed his hurting opticals. "'Kay guys, let's head back inside."

So they did, but the laughing continued far longer than that. It had been a good 5 minutes until they had even started to settle down and by that time Optimus had grown tired looking at them all, sitting there, in their makeshift circle, with his arms crossed and optics half aglow. Hot Shot was now even sitting in his lap, not laughing like the others anymore.

"I—I can't believe that Prime did that! Ha, ha!" Hot Rod held his aching abdomen as he rolled around, running into Fireflight who had fallen over to roll around with him.

"Come on guys," Silverbolt was now managing to keep his laughter to himself. "It's Optimus' turn. Enough already, heh."

"Alright, alright," Hot Rod sighed out, trying to calm himself, succeeding only slightly before looking at Optimus. "Alright Optimus, ask what you want."

"Alright," Optimus nodded before looking around at everyone before his gaze once again met Hot Rod. "Hot Rod—Truth or Dare?"

Hot Rod seemed to sober up from his laughter fit and look around nervously.

"Uh, you do realize you can ask anyone—not just the person who asked you," Hot Rod said, continuing to try and not meet gazes.

"I know that," Optimus nodded. "I want to ask you, Truth or Dare?"

"Come on Hot Rod, it's only fair," Jazz spoke up. "After what Prime did and all."

"Fine," Hot Rod grinned knowing that Optimus probably just wanted to get him back. "Truth."

"Truth? Really Hot Rod?" Blaster asked, everyone rolling their opticals. "Since when are you a 'truth' person?"

"Since now, now shut up," Hot Rod snapped before crossing his arms and meeting Optimus' gaze.

Optimus secretly smiled—he had actually thought Hot Rod would go 'dare' when he wanted a truth from him. This was surprisingly working out to his favor.

"Alright," Optimus nodded before picking his question. "Do you . . . enjoying living here? Really."

Everyone was quiet while they waited for Hot Rod to answer, some even coughing to get him to go on, but Hot Rod seemed to not want to open his mouth, what with the way his jaw was clamping like that.

"Come on Hot Rod," Tracks nudged him. "You gotta answer, _truthfully_."

Hot Rod glanced away from Optimus and instantly his cheek plating began to spark. Everyone could see this and so Jazz scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his bud's neck tubing.

"Come on Hot Rod, play fair and answer truthfully," Jazz grinned, patting the mech's chest.

Hot Rod puffed out light steam before glancing at Optimus in a rather annoyed away before inclining his head and nodding a 'Mhm'.

"There we go, was that so hard?" Jazz chuckled while everyone clapped for Hot Rod's answer.

_Really? _Optimus thought inwardly, his smile hidden behind his faceplate widening all the more. _I'm so glad._

Optimus could care less while the others picked out who went next. All he was focused on right now was Hot Rod who was still sparking at the cheeks and trying to still not make optical contact with him. He was sincere and that was why Optimus was happy. He was happy that Hot Rod was happy.

"Alright guys shut up!" Hot Rod suddenly spoke up, seeing how they were now arguing over who got to go next. "Blaster will get to go next!"

"Awwww," everyone but Blaster moaned as they all looked to the red boom box.

"Really? Sweet!" Blaster jumped up. "Alright then . . . Slingshot!"

"Yep!" Slingshot was now sitting upright and attentive.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Dare!" Slingshot exclaimed, he was a mech and he was going to show it in front of all his older siblings to boot!

"I _dare_ you to lick Silverbolt's face."

"What? ! No, no, no!" Silverbolt gasped, scooting away from the oncoming Slingshot as he grinned, soon wrapping his arms around his brother's neck and gave him a big sloppy lick right to the right side of his face, catching an optic in it all, and causing Silverbolt to gag.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Good one Blaster! Ha!" Slingshot rolled around.

"That was gross," Silverbolt whimpered as he wiped his face thoroughly.

"Next," Jazz said.

And it continued on this way. Tracks was dared to spray-paint himself a lime green, much to his dismay, Silverbolt had gotten truth and everyone had found out he was actually the oldest out of all his siblings—much to everyone's surprise, what with the way he acted around some of them. Jazz was dared to take Blaster into the neighbor's front yard and break-dance listening to Blaster's loud choice of music, Optimus of course later having to explain they were just playing a game with a few teenaged young mechs to the annoyed neighbors. Hot Shot was dared to eat all the leftover energon saucer slices, which made him regurgitate the useless fuel, which Optimus made the person who dared him to do it, Jazz, to clean it up.

Skydive was dared to jump off the roof without his boosters, which caused him a nasty system-crash, but he was getting better. On more than one occasion Optimus threatened to stop the game, but held it back seeing how all the teens were enjoying themselves—especially Hot Rod and that was the one thing he wanted the most . . . for that boy to enjoy himself.

They were mechs by the way.

All in all each and every one managed to stay up till morning came. Right when the first rays of the sun struck them each heading straight off into a much needed recharge. Optimus himself was in need for a recharge, but he stayed up to clean up the mess the boys had made. Well . . . that's what he told himself he stayed up for and he really had, but . . . you see . . .

With a soft smile Optimus thought about ignoring cleanup until everyone else was up and he too had gotten some recharge. After all, right now he didn't want to move. What with little Hot Shot laying his head on his lap to his left and to his right Hot Rod had somehow managed to lean against him and fall into recharge. So, wrapping a cautious arm around both boys, so not to wake them up, Optimus tightened his grip and offlined his optics, getting ready to head into recharge.

He had so much fun with them and the others tonight and he hadn't felt more a part of their life like he did now. That night they had been laughing, shouting, singing, and all sorts of things together. Like a real family.

Yes . . . be was pretty sure what he wanted right now. This. This is what he wanted.

His boys.

His sons.


	8. I Want To Keep Them

**Hot Shot's Girl: Ah! Sorry I didn't update in forever! I had a major block, and I was working on my own book, you know, the one I warned ya about ;D Well, anyways. Sorry this chp is short, but the next one should be longer and more interesting. So yeah . . . thank ZabuzasGirl for getting on my butt 'til I updated :) This one's for them! :D**

"So how is everything, Skyfire?" Optimus came up to the scientist who only ignored the Prime, seemingly on purpose.

"Skyfire?" Optimus questioned, he looked around and noticed Hot Shot wasn't sitting on a counter nearby. "Where's Hot Shot?"

Skyfire let out a sigh and managed to look at his commander with his deep blue optics, his gaze heavy; that much Optimus could tell.

"He's off with Ratchet at the moment for a check-up," Skyfire answered, his gaze still refusing to meet Optimus'.

"Oh, I could have taken him you know," Optimus replied.

"I know," Skyfire sighed once more. "Optimus, it's finished."

"What is?" Optimus asked, his motherboard processing pretty much nothing at that comment from the scientist.

"The data transfer," Skyfire said, knowing those three words would kill his leader.

He watched the Prime freeze, his joints and rotators going on lockdown as he heard the news. His optics were brighter than normal, signaling he had let this date creep up on him unbeknownst.

"It is?" Optimus asked, the tone in his voice was almost desperate for the scientist to deny everything he's just said.

"I'm sorry Optimus, but it is," Skyfire nodded. "Which is why he's now with Ratchet. He's making sure his mainframe is in perfect health after the last of the data transfer."

"Then . . . I suppose I should head over to his office," Optimus said, slowly turning around to head towards the medical center. "He'll be fine, won't he?"

"He will," Skyfire replied with a nod. "The data will still take time to decipher, but Hot Shot was a good sport about it. Give him my thanks will ya?"

"I will," Optimus mumbled back the reply, obviously his mind was somewhere else, and everyone could tell.

* * *

"Man, Hot Rod, you should totally have another rechargeover," Jazz spoke up from in-between his chomps on his energon lunch.

"You really enjoyed it that much?" Hot Rod asked, a chuckle coming through his shoulders that shook from the remaining thoughts of what all had went on during that time.

"Pit yeah!" Jazz grinned. "Especially the truth or dare game."

"I'd have to agree with Jazz," Silverbolt spoke up from where he sat, which was right across the four, sitting next to his brothers. "It was really fun."

"Yeah, but you didn't even do a single dare, you wuss!" Blaster teased, sticking his glossa out at the Aerial.

"S-So," Silverbolt stuttered after fidgeting in his seat. "I was afraid of what you'd make me do."

"Alright, since you're so _scared_ about it, how about next time we just make you take out the trash?" Hot Rod joked, getting everyone else to throw their heads back and laugh as well.

"That's not that funny," Silverbolt pouted.

"Lighten up, bro," Skydive said, patting his brother on the shoulder before looking back at Hot Rod. "But seriously, you should ask Prime if you can."

"Yeah!" Slingshot spoke up. "It was really cool being in the Prime mansion. Talk about an old place! I'm surprised he let us do all those things."

"I guess," Hot Rod shrugged. "You know, most of that place isn't even used."

"I know," Tracks spoke up. "My adoptive family have a large place, but not as large as the Prime mansion. I assume it's because they don't have as many sparklings, but then again . . . neither does Prime. Do you think that he was a part of a large family or something?"

"I don't know," Hot Rod said, not really wanting to get into anything personal about his caretaker's life.

"No, he wasn't," Silverbolt said.

"He wasn't?" Jazz asked.

"No, he was actually an only sparkling, and so was his father-creator. The Prime line's all but faded out of existence. I mean, sure, the Prime mansion used to be full of Primes, but that was eons ago—before they decided to fight each other for power, until there's now only Optimus," Silverbolt informed.

"You serious?" Blaster asked. "So he's it, huh?"

"Yeah," Silverbolt nodded, looking actually quite sad about this. "I can't imagine what it's like to be the last of your family."

"You guys must sympathize, huh?" Air Raid asked, looking at the four orphans." Being the last of your families, that is."

"Yeah, I guess so," Jazz said with a roll of his shoulder plates. "I never really thought it that important—especially from where we came from. I mean, it's not like our families were anything like the Primes."

"Yeah, man," Blaster spoke up. "There's a family you'd hate to see disappear."

"Well," Fireflight let out a sigh. "It's going to whenever Optimus offlines."

"Why, is he ill?" Tracks asked.

"No, nothing like that," Fireflight said, waving his hands. "It's just that he's the last-_last_. There's no more Primes after him."

"You serious?" Jazz asked, dimming the light in his visor slightly as he leaned closer. "You mean to tell me he just can't pick any pretty little femme he wishes and spark a sparkling with her?"

"Really, Jazz, Really?" Tracks rose his brow at his friend and just shook his head.

"What? I'm just saying," was all Jazz had to say for his comeback. "He's a Prime. Who _doesn't_ want to be with a Prime?"

"It's the reason because he already had a sparkmate and sparkling before," Fireflight informed.

"Really?" Blaster asked.

"Yeah," Silverbolt spoke up with a nod. "In fact, Optimus' sparkling would have been our age—if he were still online."

"What happened?" Hot Rod suddenly spoke up, poking his head into the conversation, now thoroughly interested into knowing what happened to Prime's own family.

"They were killed," Silverbolt leaned in to whisper; apparently this subject was still fragile around these parts.

"The Decepticons?" Jazz asked.

"Yeah," Silverbolt nodded, along with his brothers. "It happened when Prime's sparkmate and sparkling were out shopping, you know, something normal. Somehow the Decepticons had gotten spies insideAutobotCityand had found her and the sparkling."

"And how long ago was this?" Tracks asked.

"About 8 millennia ago," Silverbolt nodded. "Yeah, Optimus' sparkling was about Hot Shot's age when he offlined."

"Hey, maybe that's why he likes you and Hot Shot so much, huh?" Blaster spoke up, elbowing Hot Rod in the ribs, pulling him away from his thoughts. "Because you two are the ages of what his sparkling would be today, and how old he was when he offlined."

"You think?" Tracks asked, looking over at Blaster.

"I'll bet my main programmer it is," Blaster nodded as he looked at Hot Rod who only shook his head with a sigh.

"Think what you will," the red and orange bot said as he got back to his lunch.

"Don't be like that Rods," Jazz spoke up, patting his good friend. "Optimus is pretty much an orphan, just like us. He's all by himself, so why don't you like him?"

"I just don't," Hot Rod said with an uncaring shrug.

"Not even now, after all he's done for you and Shoty?" Jazz asked.

Hot Rod's only answer was another uncaring shrug, thus making everyone else roll their optics with a sigh. They all knew he was getting to like him; he was just denying it. The hard part would be to get him to outright admit it, admit that he liked Prime more than he was letting on.

* * *

"Ratchet?" Optimus asked as he came into the medic's office to find the doctor had already finished with the check-up on the young sparkling. "Oh, are you done already?"

"Yep, _it_ is," Ratchet nodded with a sigh as he placed all his medical instruments away and looked at his leader. "How are you feeling?"

"It's not _my_ check-up old friend," Optimus chuckled, but the look in Ratchet's optics made Optimus realize what he really meant and, just as he realized, his shoulders slumped and he glanced down. "I'm not really sure," Optimus said as he turned his optics over towards the young sunshine colored sparkling who continually kicked his legs and chewed on his energon goodie that he got for being a good boy. "What do I do now?"

"I suppose hand them over to the orphanage program," Ratchet said with a shrug as he took up his kit and readied to leave, looking at his commander before exiting the door. "You knew this day would come, and you'd eventually have to do this."

"Yes, but . . . I just didn't know it'd come so soon," Optimus said honestly.

"It's been a couple centuries, Prime," Ratchet said. "You've had plenty of time to think of this, plus this was the estimated time given."

"I know, I know, but . . ."

"But, you don't want to give them up, do you?" Ratchet asked.

Optimus was silent and in his silence he answered the doctor's question. Ratchet nodded before setting down his kit for a moment before sighing and rubbing his brow.

"You want to keep the both of them?" the medic asked.

"I do," Optimus answered with a nod.

"Even his older brother, the young ruffian?" Ratchet asked, knowing all too much about the older one and his troubles with the Prime.

Optimus let out a chuckle at the name his medic had called Hot Shot's older brother, but he guessed it was appropriate, especially with his attitude towards everyone he met. Well, Ironhide's called him a lot worse; let's just leave it at that.

"Yes, even Hot Rod," Optimus nodded, even noticing the turn in Hot Shot's head as he mentioned his beloved brother's name.

"Rody? What about him?" Hot Shot asked, energon goodie smeared all over his chubby little face.

Optimus let out a chuckle as he came up to the mech and picked him up, managing to wipe most of the mess off the little one's face as he said—

"Oh, I was just wondering if you'd like to pay him a visit at the academy today."

"Yeah!" the little one cheered as he threw his arms up.

Optimus turned to see Ratchet shaking his head and looking at him.

"The Elders won't like this, I'm just saying," Ratchet said, placing his fists on his hips as he watched Optimus take the young sparkling and begin to leave.

"I know, but . . . I'll find someway to convince them," Optimus said with a nod. "Thanks again Ratchet, for checking on Hot Shot's health."

"Yeah, well I may need to check on yours after your visit to the Elders. I'm sure they'll absorb the life right out of you for suggesting on keeping the boys," Ratchet called after him.

"Sure thing, Ratchet," Optimus called back before leaving the medic for good.

"Hhh, crazy mech," Ratchet said, shaking his head before taking up his kit again. "Then again, who isn't around here? Slag . . . I got to get back home to fix the boys their dinner. Last time they wrecked the house because it wasn't done in time before they got back."

* * *

"Come on guys, teamwork!" Powerglide called out, cheering on his class as they went through their designated courses of the day. "Hot Rod!"

The bot in question turned and looked at his teacher before smiling as he gave him a thumbs-up.

"Good job! Helping your partner out of their hardest part is what I'm looking for!" Powerglide called out as he watched Hot Rod help Silverbolt through a ground course, the tunneling part, something the Aerial bot had a great problem with.

"You got it, Silverbolt?" Hot Rod asked as he continued to push the mech before him forward so they could get out of the tunnel.

"I think," Silverbolt said. "Sorry if I'm so slow. I don't like the tunnels."

"I can see why," Hot Rod nodded. "Just keep going. These tunnels on the course are pretty sturdy so you don't have to worry about them collapsing on you."

"Don't remind me," Silverbolt gulped as he shakingly made his way forward before he finally reached the end and shot out into the open air. "Ahhh, now that's better. Nothing like clear skies above to help me relax."

"Yeah, especially when you're so low to the ground," Hot Rod chuckled, watching his partner about levitate off the ground before flying around.

"Hey, I'll go higher, but only when it's necessary," Silverbolt countered.

"Suuuure," Hot Rod chuckled before they both ran up to their teacher, awaiting their score. "So, how'd we do Teach'?"

"Well, you officially came in fourth," Powerglide said, pointing back towards the other three teams who made it before them, one of which happened to be Jazz and his partner, Cosmo.

"What place did you get?" Hot Rod asked, coming up to the two.

"Number one, baby," Jazz grinned, wrapping his arm around his partner's neck. "Cosmo is the mech for the job if you suddenly have an Aerial with busted boosters."

"Well, our timing wasn't that bad, was it Hot Rod?" Silverbolt asked. "We did get fourth place after all."

It was then he noticed his partner silently groaning at the loss for first place. He knew he was competitive, especially with his old friends, Jazz, Blaster, and Tracks, so it was a little hard for him to be just as to satisfy him.

"It's alright, Silverbolt," Jazz came up to the mech and patted his shoulder plate. "You know Hot Rod, and you know how much he loves my first place throne."

"It's not _yours_, Jazz!" Hot Rod growled, shaking his fist at the silver mech.

Jazz only laughed as the bot chased him around while they waited for the other teams to get ready, but while they did they didn't notice a large red and blue bot come in and speak with the teacher. They did, however, notice the loud shout of the young sparkling he brought with him.

"RODY!"

All heads of the bots there turned to see a young sparkling, a little too young to be in the present academy.

"Shoty?" Hot Rod blinked before he watched his little brother jump right up into his arms.

"I missed you!" the little mech exclaimed as he nuzzled his face into the breast plating of his big brother.

"I did too," Hot Rod smiled before he turned and noticed Optimus Prime standing there watching them while he stood next to Powerglide, no doubt talking about his progress. "How'd your day go?"

"I went for my check-up with Watchet, and Ski-Sky-Sku—" Hot Rod chuckled at the struggle his brother was having for actually trying to say Skyfire's name right. It was just too cute.

"Skyfire," Hot Rod corrected with a nod, making his little brother nod as well.

"Yeah," Hot Shot nodded. "Well, it was my last appointment with them."

"Really?" Hot Rod asked, looking at Optimus for a moment before looking back at his brother. "Well, I'm sure you're glad about that."

"Maybe," Hot Shot said with a shrug, his baby blue optics casting down.

"What's wrong?" Hot Rod asked.

"I liked them, does this mean I won't see them again?" the little mech asked, looking up at his big brother with a question he'd really like answered.

"I don't think so," Hot Rod answered honestly. "You'll have to ask Optimus later."

"Why not now?" Hot Shot asked.

"Because," Hot Rod said as he placed his little brother down. "He's talking to my teacher right now."

And so Hot Rod took his brother's hand and led him back towards Optimus who was in the middle of a talk with Powerglide.

"No, really, he's actually come a long way since he started," Powerglide said with a nod. "He's really getting along with Silverbolt and most of the Aerials—well the ones that don't think they're higher than the Terrestrials."

"So, does he still get in fights?" Optimus asked.

"Well, yeah, but not that many anymore," Powerglide said. "He's really turning into a good boy, Prime. Should I think this is all your parenting?"

"Heh, well I can't say that," Optimus let out a chuckle. "Especially since he's still set on avoiding me, even at home."

"Eh, that's a shame. You're a good parent. Look at how you treat Hot Shot," Powerglide countered.

"Optimus!" Hot Shot decided interrupt their conversation and run right into the big mech's arms.

"Did you say hello to your brother?" Optimus asked as he picked the sparkling up and held him close.

"Yeah," Hot Shot nodded as he turned to look at his brother who stood near.

"Any reason why you're visiting today?" Hot Rod asked, crossing his arms and looking up at the Prime with what could be none other than a look of rudeness.

"Hot Rod, will you respect the mech a little?" Powerglide asked. "Stop looking so stuck up—it just doesn't suit you."

"Whatever," Hot Rod sighed.

"No reason," Optimus answered.

"Sure," Hot Rod muttered. "You sure it wasn't to say 'good-riddance'?"

"What are you going on about now?" Powerglide asked with a groan. "Look, you're doing good in class. Don't make be bring your down a grade just for sassing Prime," the Aerial warned. "Now get back to your partner. Because you're like that to the commander and chief, I want you to run through that course again, this time, cutting the time you made in half!"

"But—!" Hot Rod started, his arms shooting to his sides.

"'But' nothing'," Powerglide said. "Get going."

"Hhh, yes sir," Hot Rod groaned before walking back over to his partner to deliver the news.

The two adults watched Silverbolt nod and go with Hot Rod to run the coarse again, both mechs knowing the Aerial probably wasn't pleased with Hot Rod's attitude getting him in trouble as well, but he was so well-mannered that he'd never say anything like that out loud . . . probably for as long as he'd live.

"Sorry about that, Prime," Powerglide apologized.

"Don't be," Optimus sighed. "It's my fault for being too soft on him."

"He's just unappreciative and rude to you and I won't have it," Powerglide said, shaking his head. "The kid doesn't know a thing about you and he decides to snap at you, _especially_ you, like this. It's unacceptable. Just wait 'til he's older and has to go out and fight along side you like the rest of us have. He'll come to appreciate you then."

"It'd be nice if it was before then," Optimus whispered out his wish before sighing. "I think he's actually getting used to me, but today he didn't seem too pleased to see me."

"What was this 'good-riddance' thing?" Powerglide asked.

"The data's all out of Hot Shot's mainframe," Optimus informed. "Now I'm supposed to give the boys to the orphanage program. I think Hot Rod's aware of this."

"You gonna?" Powerglide asked, his optics traveling to Hot Shot who clung tightly to Optimus and vice versa. "Doesn't look to me like you're ready to let go—of either one."

"It's because I'm not," Optimus said.

"Heh, gonna fight the Elders are we?" Powerglide asked with a chuckle.

"It's the only thing I can do," Optimus said, letting out a sigh. "First, I'm going to have to find Hot Shot a sitter while I go and see them today, and then there's Hot Rod . . ."

"I can watch him and the boys for a while, if you want," Powerglide offered.

"You would?" Optimus asked.

"Yeah, sure, I'll find them something to do," Powerglide said with a nod as he folded his arms and looked back at his students. "That way you won't have to worry about the little jerk, huh?"

"That'll be much appreciative," Optimus said. "And for Hot Shot . . . well, I'm sure Arcee won't mind watching him."

"Yeah, she's great with sparklings," Powerglide said. "Just have her take him to the playing grounds. He'll be fine until you get back from the pits."

"Yeah," Optimus nodded. "That'll probably be what I'll do."

"Well, I'm for ya, just so you know," Powerglide said, raising his fist towards his commander.

"Thank-you," Optimus said with a smile.

"Just remember . . . you're Prime, and they're not," Powerglide said. "If you want to keep the kids, you can. Don't let what they say bring you down."

"I'm no dictator though," Optimus replied.

"Neither are they, ya hear? So you go give them a piece of your mainframe," Powerglide cheered.

"I really wish I had your spirit, Powerglide," Optimus said, his optics dimming slightly in thought.

"You don't need it if you're going up against the Elders," Powerglide said.

"I'll remember that," Optimus said with a nod as he optics journeyed back towards Hot Rod and Silverbolt who had just finished the course, this time faster, as was told.


End file.
